Fear Can Turn To Love
by La Prima
Summary: Erik and Meg's love faces a new and dangerous threat. Will they be able to overcome it? (A sequel to Unspoken Secrets).
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The thunder of applause drew Meg to the head of the head of the stage. The smiles and calls of appreciation from every seat were like the warm embrace of a long absent friend. Staring out at the faces in the crowd, she knew that she had been gone far too long. As she took her bow, her eyes trailed up to the top most box. She couldn't see Erik, but she knew he was there watching her. For a moment, she gave him a silent acknowledgement, her hand set lightly on her heart. Turning her radiant smile back to the crowd, she quickly backed away with the rest of the _corps._ Roses and bouquets hit the boards at her feet until the curtain dropped. Accepting embraces from everyone around her, she found herself staring longingly at the heavy curtain. She wanted to do it all over again. It was the happiest she had been since_.

Pushing her sadness back, she continued accepting the kindness and kisses on her cheek as she made her way off the stage. Madame Giry and Labreau were waiting.

"Perfection _ma chere_." Labreau bent down to give her their customary kiss on both cheeks.

"That final pirouette was sloppy," Madame Giry said, handing her a cloth.

Meg smiled dryly. "Thank you Mama."

Labreau towered over Madame Giry. "As the Director of this opéra house I_."

"Interim director," she reminded him, handing Meg a glass of water.

"Interim or not. I am Director," he countered. "I found nothing at all wrong with her performance. Sometimes I think you should have been one of those nasty critics in the newspapers who hate everything."

Laughing, Meg and began her escape. "I'll remove myself from the crossfire. Excuse me." Leaving them to continue their personal brand of foreplay, she hurried to shut the door to her dressing room. After wiping her face clean, she rushed to unlace her slippers. In the quiet of her dressing room, she was able to fully sink into the pleasure of the night. Almost year had passed since her last performance. It was hard to believe she had staid away for that long. As that thought passed, her mind went dark again. She let the satin laces of her slippers drop from her fingers. Tears stung her eyes as her mind left the theater, for the oak lined cemetery, and the small grave guarded by a stone angel.

Shaking her head, she whispered to herself, "No. Not tonight." Tonight was too good. Too joyous to allow her grief to overtake her again. She had promised herself that night would be a new beginning for her. For she and Erik, and for Lucia. She turned to the small silver framed picture of their 8 year old daughter. She was very much her doppelganger; blonde, wide set green eyes, little mouth shaped like cupid's bow. The sadness that had come for her slowly retreated at the sight of Lucia's smile. Her heart filled up again.

The door shot open, as loud talk and laughter poured in from outside as Madame Giry entered. Her slender arms were weighted down by a heavy bouquet of velvety red roses, elegantly bound together by a black satin ribbon. She didn't need to ask who sent them. She took them from Madame Giry and inhaled the gorgeous scent, before setting them aside.

"He's still waiting in the box," she asked, hurrying to wipe the rest of her make up away.

"As usual," Madame Giry sighed taking the pins out of her hair. "Have you spoken to him yet about the invitation?"

The invitation. Meg's smile withered. "Yes. And he doesn't want to go."

"Did you tell him that you already accepted it?"

"Yes. He wasn't happy, of course."

Madame Giry scoffed. "Did you explain to him that it came directly from the wife of the President of Mexico?"

Meg rolled her eyes. "You know that titles mean nothing to Erik. She might as well have been the wife of some poor fisherman. I told him that I would only be in Mexico City two weeks."

"And he wasn't satisfied?"

"No. It will be the first time we've been apart since before we were married. He worries it will upset Lucia."

"Lucia is like us. She will be fine," Madame Giry assured her in her warmest maternal tone. "Think of what a great opportunity this will be for you."

"And a chance for you to travel." Meg raised a brow, handing her the heavy gold handled brush.

Madame Giry's smile declared her guilt as she brushed out the buttery curls. "Who wouldn't want to travel to Mexico City as a guest of the president? To be wined and celebrated all over?"

Meg raised her shoulders. "Perhaps."

Madame Giry let out an irritated sigh. "It's time for you to be happy. Eventually, Erik will understand how good this will be for you."

Meg sighed, as she glanced over at the crimson blooms. "I hope so."

* * *

From their box, Erik watched the last of the crowd exit from opéra. It was part of he and Meg's routine. Labreau would reserve the box for him, and he would arrive quietly after the rest of the audience was seated. That didn't always keep him from coming face to face with other patrons. They would look at him, not with fear or confusion, but with curious admiration. He would incline his head and quickly make his way upstairs. As he went he would hear their whispers behind him.

"That's Monsieur De Laval. Meg Giry's husband."

"The one who saved her from that fire?"

Thanks to Labreau's assumptions about his mask's origin, he was no longer a freak, but a local legend. A hero, and not a villain. Madame Giry also did her part to help spread Labreau's assumptions about how Erik heroically rescued Meg from the fire set by a crazed former suitor. No one knew what really happened that night, and that Meg was the one who saved him, and herself. Yes, his new back story was a fiction, but a necessary one. It had been nine years since the fire happened. Eight years since Lucia was born. And almost a year since they lost Angelique. A sudden flashback of that horrible night came too fast for him to stop it; Him sitting beside Meg as Lysette, carried her little body away in a white linen sheet.

Forcing himself back into the present, his mind went to Lucia. Yes, Lucia was his tiny star. She never failed to make him smile or to feel like his heart would burst from pride. When she arrived, it was clear who she favored. She was Meg reborn. Like the other Giry women, she had a natural moxie and confidence. Nothing and no one seemed to intimidate her. Not the dark. Not strangers. Nothing. For a time, he wondered if there was anything of him inside her. When she was four, their connection finally revealed itself. Madame Giry decided that her granddaughter would follow in their footsteps. She would be a world class ballerina! Both she and Meg brought her along to rehearsals, trying to get Lucia to dance. But, Lucia would have none of it. One day, she abandoned her tiny white satin ballet shoes, and went her own way, straight to the opéra cast. As their soprano Mariela Di Santo hit a high note, she thought she heard an echo. When their bass baritone found the source of her "echo" everyone was amazed. To Madame Giry's bitter disappointment, Lucia didn't care about dancing. All she wanted to do was sing. He quietly, and with some degree of smugness, took full credit for that. Having sung to her every night since she was born, she was his most devoted audience. Now, at eight years old, she was already a natural born diva. A diva who would one day take on the Carlotta Giudicelli's of the world, and win. He couldn't have been prouder.

The sound of Meg's footsteps on the stairs brought him back to the present. He couldn't ignore the anxious fluttering of his heart as he watched the door. There was an argument between them on the carriage ride there. One he hoped was already behind them, and wouldn't need to be revisited. The door opened, and he rose to meet her. The smile she brought into the box gave him some ease.

"A triumph," he said, reaching for her hand to kiss it. "I am so proud of you."

She took him by the hand and led him back to their seat. "I'm glad. Mama had a critique. of course."

"Of course," he laughed. "Antoinette is never fully satisfied, as you well know."

Tucking her feet under her grey velvet gown, she turned serious. "Mama will be accompanying me to Mexico City."

He nodded, his smile tight. "Good. I'm glad she is able to go with you."

She squeezed his hand. "I really wish you would reconsider coming with me."

"There is no need to keep discussing this," he sighed.

Her mask of gentleness cracked as her anger leaked through. "I don't understand why you refuse to consider it. Your life in Paris is far behind you. Everything is different. You are finally living out in the open. You_."

"And it took a very long time for me to get there. Yes, I'm comfortable here in New Orleans now. But, Mexico City is another world."

"I'm not asking you to come out and dance with me," Meg groaned. "All I want is to share this experience with you!"

"What use is it for me to be there if all I do is stay closed up in a suite?" Another argument was on the cusp of her lips, but he put a finger to them to silence her. "As I said before, I'm not ready. Perhaps, I will be in the future. But, not right now. Besides, Lucia needs one of us here."

Meg turned her head away, lips pursed. "Of course. I understand. I'll just have to work on accepting it."

He refused to let their talk end that way. Leaning in, he stroked the back of her neck in a particular spot that he knew would coax a smile. "Do you know what I'm reminded of every time I step into this box?"

A smile tweaked the corner of her mouth. "That night you first came here to watch me dance." She turned her head to look at him again. "It ended with me in nothing but my dancing slippers."

The memory drew them closer together. It was when everything was still so new and all they wanted was to be close to each other. The sound of foot steps and Madame Giry's voice blew out the flame that was slowly growing between them.

"Meg!"

"What does she want now," Meg hurried up from her seat as Erik grabbed hold of her hand.

He whispered in a voice thick with passion, "Get rid of her."

Meg went to the door in time to keep Madame Giry from letting herself in. "What is it?"

"There is an important guest waiting to meet you backstage. Labreau promised him an introduction." Meg looked over her shoulder at Erik, and then back at her mother's determined face.

"Come quickly," Madame Giry ordered, before hurrying back down the narrow staircase.

Meg slammed the door shut, giving Erik a look of apology. "I'm sorry _mon amour_. I have to go and do my duty."

Erik rose from his seat and gathered up his cloak, his face taut with frustration. "Of course. I'll be waiting downstairs with Henri."

"I'll try to get away as quickly is I can." Then she was gone.

Erik looked around the small space as he slipped on his cloak. As he did he began thinking that he would have done anything to return them to their first night in that space. It was a moment in their love when they both decided that they wouldn't allow anything to get between them. But, at that moment, it seemed that life was determined to do just that.

* * *

"Ah! There she is, at last." She noted the slight irritation in Labreau's voice as she approached. Standing beside him was a dark haired gentleman dressed in a long houndstooth coat with a furred collar, a bowler hat in his tanned hands. The eyes that met hers were dark, almost black. He flashed a startlingly white smile as he inclined his head. She tried not to stare.

"Don Antonio Conteras y Castello, this is the incomparable Meg Giry, our principal dancer."

She inclined her head and extended her hand. "Don Antonio. I'm honored to meet you."

"The honor is mine, I assure you Mademoiselle Giry." The dark eyes lingered on her face as he let her hand go. "I have to say that I haven't seen dancing as impressive as yours since my visit to St. Petersburg."

Meg laughed. "I don't think I'm quite at that level. But, thank you all the same."

Madame Giry inserted herself. "I was telling Don Antonio about our upcoming trip to Mexico City. It seems his sister is wife to the Mexican Ambassador."

"Perhaps we will have the chance to meet her when we are there," Meg proposed, her eyes wandering to the exit door nearby.

"She is the reason I came, actually." He smiled somewhat shyly as he looked at her. "Last year, she saw you dance in Coppelia, and she raved about you. I think that was what prompted President Diaz's wife to extend an invitation."

"I will have to thank her when I meet her," Meg said, taking a step back. "It was good to meet you Don Antonio."

"Perhaps, I will see you again when you are in Mexico City," he said.

"Of course. Now, I must be going," she said, turning on her heel. "Good night!"

She knew that she would hear a lecture from her mother about her abrupt exit, but she was ready to leave. Henri was at the exit ready to tip his felt hat and open the carriage door for her. Once she was inside, she sank into the velvet seat behind her, and slipped off the black leather slippers. Erik smiled as he watched her unwind.

"So who was this important guest you had to meet," he asked.

Meg shut her eyes. "Some young Don with far too much money."

She heard Erik grunt in reply as Henri drove them out of the city. Even with her eyes closed she knew where they were. The voices, music and sounds of New Orleans had faded out and were overtaken by the call of some lone bird and the wind. Through her skirts, she felt the heavy warmth of Erik's hand dropping onto her thigh. A silent signal to her that he was ready to resume what had started back in the opéra box. She opened her eyes, at the feeling of his hands moving up to her waist. He pulled her in fast, the space between their bodies disappearing.

She laughed softly as his mouth went to her neck. "We can't."

"Why not," he whispered.

"Henri," she whispered back.

"I'll be quiet," he promised.

"That would be impossible for both of us," she said.

He grazed the delicate flesh of her earlobe with his teeth. "Try me."

She exhaled, feeling that long dormant heat between her thighs. It took her over as she straddled him. Her hands went to the waist of his trousers and he lifted her skirts. They moved quickly, their longing and missing pushing their bodies into one. For so long her body felt dead, and her desire for anything buried. Now, her desire was awakened and taking on a life of its own; crawling and burning its way under every inch of her skin. She ground her hips into him, riding with the rhythm of the carriage as it swayed and bounced down the dark road. He buried his face in her breasts, trying to stifle a deep groan as his body shuddered underneath her. She followed him, her body opening up as the pleasure poured out of her in gasps and moans. Slowly, they both came down together, their bodies tangled together in silence.

"Mon Dieu," she breathed, her head dropping onto his shoulder.

"Do you still want to leave me for two weeks," he whispered.

She lifted her head, and saw that he was smiling. "If you come with me, then we can do nothing, but this for two weeks."

Laughing, he let his hands drop to her hips. "Or you can decline the invitation and we can still do this for two weeks."

Touching her forehead to his, eye to eye, she whispered, "I'm still going."

"Then we will have to make up for lost time when you return." He kissed her gently.

"I won't be leaving for another 3 weeks," she reminded him, pulling up her bodice.

"True," he said, passing a finger from her cheek down to her mouth. "Would you like to embarrass Henri again?'

She eased herself off his lap and onto the seat beside him. "We're almost home. More later."

He took her hand and brushed the soft skin with his lips. "Of course."

Their hands remained locked together, resting in the space between them. Despite their mutual desire to keep their minds on each other and the future, they knew what was coming. As much as they both tried to ignore it, they both saw the spire of the old church, and the cast iron gates that led into the cemetery, to the place where their little girl rested. Angelique never saw either of their faces, or even took a breath outside her mother's body. Rather than lay her in the brass crib in the sunny nursery that overlooked their garden, she was laid in a small white casket in the cold ground. Neither of them could bring themselves to go back there. Only Lucia and Lysette made a weekly vigil to bring her flowers from their garden. As the carriage rolled past, his hold on her hand tightened. Nothing more was said.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"So, what brings you to my kingdom?"

Erik smiled at Labreau, shaking his hand. "Lucia. She was bored and demanded I bring her here for a visit. Meg let it slip that you are holding auditions for Don Giovanni. Lucia thinks that you need her expertise in selecting the cast."

Both men laughed at they walked to the side of the stage where Lucia waited, looking wistfully out at the empty rows of seats. She smiled Meg's impish smile as she approached Labreau with all the self possession of a 30 year old diva.

"How have the auditions gone," she asked Labreau.

As he always did with her mother, he bent down to kiss her cheeks. "No one is quite as good as you, of course. You need to hurry and grow up so you can star in all our productions."

"I'm trying, but time is moving so slowly," she sighed.

"Don't be in a rush to grow up yet," Erik said, smiling down at her. "I'm not ready for you to leave me and your mother."

"I'll be attending the Ursuline Academy next month," she reminded him.

Erik's smile faded out as Labreau gave him a look of sympathy. Thanks to Antoinette, he was made privy to the details of the fight between Erik and Meg over Lucia's education. Days of cold silences punctuated by rounds of raised voices. Of course, Erik surrendered and Meg won the fight. He did understand her desire for Lucia to have a better education, but he sympathized with Erik's struggle in letting her go. It couldn't have been easy for either of them.

The sound of light footsteps echoed behind him. From the corner of his eye he thought it was Meg coming to meet them. But, the source of the light, quick steps surprised him.

"Are you Monsieur Labreau?"

Her blonde hair was coiled into an elegant chignon at the base of her slender neck. The wide set green eyes were set in a perfect heart shaped face. Full lips parted to reveal an almost perfect set of pearl like teeth as she smiled at him. In her slender hand was a roll of sheet music.

"Yes," he laughed. "For a moment I mistook you for someone I knew." He glanced at Erik and found him staring at the new arrival with the same curious amazement.

Her laughter was like a soft touch, as she looked at both he and Erik. "I am here to audition for the role of Doña Anna. Or am I too late?"

"Not at all," Labreau said, gesturing towards the stage. "I have seen many potential Doña Annas today, and none have impressed."

As she passed, Erik tried not to stare. Lucia watched her, small mouth slightly ajar as the lady gave her a smile in passing. As Labreau led her to the head of the stage, Lucia whispered, "She does look like Mama."

"Not as beautiful, of course," Erik whispered back. Secretly, he knew his words were a white lie. No one would ever be as beautiful to him as Meg, but he felt an attraction to the new arrival. It wasn't just her striking resemblance to his wife, but something about the way she moved. There was an easy and sensual grace to her every step. It was in the sound of her laughter and the way she looked at him. The feelings he was experiencing were unsettling, he had to admit.

"What is your name Mademoiselle," Labreau asked. "I apologize for not asking sooner."

"Cassandra Moreau," She said handing him her sheet music. For a brief moment her eyes shifted over to Erik as Labreau unrolled her sheet music. Giving him a discreet smile, her eyes wandered back to Labreau.

He grunted in approval as he looked over the sheet. "Zaide. Fine choice. Tell me. What training have you had?"

"I was a protégé of Mathilde Marchesi. She trained me from the age of 13 until two years ago."

"Impressive," Labreau acknowledged. "Why wouldn't you have remained in Paris, or joined a company in Europe?"

She lifted her slender shoulders, smiling prettily. "It's a long story. If you do select me for the role of Doña Anna, I promise to tell you all about it."

Labreau was disarmed. "I yield the stage to you Mademoiselle." He quickly handed the sheet music to Pierre, the violinist, and joined Erik and Lucia.

The sweet and wistful strains of Mozart filled the space as they waited for her to begin. What Erik heard struck him. An almost effortless and hauntingly pure soprano. The kind of voice he had not witnessed since that long ago night when he first heard the echo of Christine's voice from the Opéra's small chapel. It made him ache listening to her execute every note with such exquisite control. When she was done no one spoke. Erik heard Lucia sigh, and looked over at a stunned Labreau.

"Perfect. I can't_." Labreau hurried to her and shook her hand. "You are amazing. Better than any of our most seasoned performers."

She laughed. "Does this mean I have the role?"

"Yes," Labreau laughed as well. "Of course! Welcome to our company!"

Lucia followed Labreau, greeting the Opéra's new addition as if she herself were a member of the company. But, Erik remained in his place watching as she dipped down to be closer to Lucia. As they spoke, he noticed her watching him. Again, he felt that hit of attraction. But, the light touch of a hand on his back cut into the moment. He looked over his shoulder to find Meg waiting behind him. Her face was radiant from her practice, her long hair spilling down her back.

"I heard that you and Lucia were here," she said, her attention going to the stage. He noticed her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. "Who is that woman talking to Lucia?'

"Her? Labreau's new Doña Anna." He said no more.

Meg left him to greet her. As Erik watched their meeting, he was again struck by the resemblance between them. For a brief moment they both looked his way. As they did, he inclined his head and quickly backed out of view.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

The apology was whispered lightly across the pillows of their bed in the dark. It had been three weeks since their encounter in the carriage. The days following were filled with either arguments or silence. Those two words surprised him. Reaching across the bed to her, he found her hand and squeezed it.

"I am too."

She rolled onto her side, and moved closer to him. "The trip to Mexico is coming fast, and I didn't want to leave you without making things right."

"You want what's best for Lucia. I was being selfish. That is true," he confessed.

"I know you will miss her," she whispered. "If she isn't happy, we can always bring her back."

"She needs to be with other girls her age. It will teach her not to be so spoiled."

They both laughed, acknowledging without a word that their little girl was quickly growing entitled. She had never needed to share anything; toys, food, time, or their attention. Everything and everyone at Maison Azelée bent to her will.

Meg fell onto her back, their hands still clasped. "So what are your thoughts about Mademoiselle Moreau?"

The memory of her eyes and her voice sent the unsettling ripples of feeling through him. He tried to affect detachment. "She is talented. Labreau is pleased."

"Pleased? He's absolutely obsessed with her," Meg laughed. "Mama is irritated by it all. She said that this girl is all he talks about. They can't have dinner or do anything else without him mentioning her name."

"I'm not surprised. Antoinette is so used to him worshipping only her," Erik said. "Is she afraid that Mademoiselle Moreau has knocked her off her pedestal?"

"She tries to pretend she doesn't care, though she complains about it endlessly. Lucia is enchanted with her as well. She thinks that we could be sisters." There was no humor in Meg's voice then.

"There is a slight resemblance," Erik replied, carefully.

"I think you're not being honest," Meg said. "Even I was struck by how much we looked alike." She grew quiet for a moment. It was the kind of heavy silence that told him to expect more. "While we were talking I noticed her watching you."

Erik moved closer to her until their bodies touched. "Let's not talk about her anymore. Sleep now, _mon amour_."

* * *

"Look Papa," Lucia pointed to the vibrant poster displayed on an easel near the backstage doors. The background was a fiery crimson with a black carnival mask in the forefront. In large gold lettering scrolled across the top was _Don Giovanni_. It would premier in 4 weeks time. The premier would take place the day before Mardi Gras, and be followed by an old world style Opéra masquerade. Grand plans for certain, but Labreau was struggling. Meg told him that Labreau was desperately trying to fill the role of Don Ottavio. Their leading Tenor abruptly left a week before for Montréal because of the promise of more money. Labreau, of course, was undone. He proclaimed loudly that he himself would sing the role of Don Ottavio is needs be. Everyone quietly hoped that he wouldn't follow through with his threat. As usual, Lucia led Erik along until they were on the stage. She always took a moment to stand at the center and gaze out at the endless rows of seats. It was as if she were imagining her future. Smiling up at him, she began to sing the words to _Dalla Sua Pace_ as deeply as she could manage reducing both of them to laughter.

"Why don't you sing it," she challenged him.

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"You've sang it to me before, remember? Please Papa."

"I don't sing in public, you know that," he gently reminded her.

"There is no one here," she argued, sweetly. "No one will hear you. Please."

"No."

"Please," she begged.

He looked around them. Both wings of the stage were empty. Most of the company, except for Meg and Antoinette were gone for the day. He looked down at her upturned and determined face. Like her mother, she knew that she would get anything she wanted from him with that face. Sighing, he began shaking his head.

"Alright. But, just a verse or two."

Smiling she stepped back, and sat on the boards to watch him. He removed his coat, and set it aside. Facing the empty house, he cshut his eyes, allowing the music to flow through his memory, guiding his voice from deep within.

 _Dalla sua pace_ _  
_ _la mia dipende;_ _  
_ _quel che a lei piace_ _  
_ _vita mi rende_ _..._

The sound of his voice echoed and vibrated off the walls. One line turned into two and then another. He couldn't bring himself to stop. Singing out loud and on the stage was like flying. Carried along on the winds of the music in his memory he disappeared into the role of Don Ottavio, singing with passion of his love.

 _What grieves her wounds me to the heart._ _When she sighs, I sigh with her..._

He thought of Meg and all they had come through in the last year together and beyond. The emotion of it all colored every word and note that poured out of him. When the final verse was sung and his mind was quiet, he felt himself dropped back into reality. He expected to hear nothing but the sound of Lucia's applause from her petite hands. Instead, her heard the sound of a woman's voice ring out behind him.

"Bravo!"

He looked over his shoulder and saw Cassandra Moreau with Lucia and Labreau. Feeling exposed, he hurried to grab up his coat and walked off stage without a backwards glance.

"Wait," he heard Cassandra call out as she hurried after him. "Monsieur De Laval, you were incredible."

"I was just singing for Lucia," he muttered.

She laid a hand on his arm, her golden green eyes pinned to his face. "You have to perform with me. Please."

"No," Erik siad, sharply. "I don't sing in public."

"You just did," Cassandra pressed. "You did and you were brilliant. Please do this for us." She looked over at Labreau, dropping her voice to a whisper. "If you don't, then he will have to sing with me. I can't have that. Please do this for me."

He tried not to look at her, but he failed. Labreau appeared with Lucia at his side. "I knew you sang well, but this was beyond what I expected _mon ami._ You know I need a Don Ottavio."

The last time he had taken the stage still haunted him. Yet, the chorus of pleas began chipping away at his resistance. His fear demanded he refuse. But, something else tugged at him. He felt the warm pressure of Cassandra Moreau's hand on his arm, and saw the hope in her beautiful eyes. When he looked down at Lucia, then at Labreau he found himself finally taking up the white flag.

"Very well," he sighed, meeting Cassandra's eyes again. "But, after premier night, never again. I will be permanently retired."

The smile she gave him was like the sun. "I can't wait to sing with you."

"What is going on here?"

They all turned to find Meg standing by. Cassandra dropped her hand from Erik's arm as Labreau hurried to fill her in.

"Your husband has saved me from embarrassing myself on opening night. He's going to be my Don Ottavio."

Meg's eyes went to Erik and then to Cassandra. "Oh is he? However did you convince him?"

"Mademoiselle Moreau is more persuasive than we knew," Labreau laughed. "Thank God. Now we can move into rehearsals." He hurried away like a fast moving storm towards his office.

Cassandra smiled in thanks at Erik as she followed in Labreau's wake. Her exit left them alone. The look in Meg's eyes was hard, and it demanded answers.

* * *

Lucia was finally asleep and the door to their bedroom was locked. Erik sat down to remove his riding boots as Meg stared at him from her vanity.

"Today was surprising." Her voice was thickly layered with irritation.

"Just say what you need to say," he shot back. "I don't care to spend the night playing this game."

She dropped her hair brush onto her vanity. "You tell me that you can't possibly go to Mexico City with me, yet you are suddenly starring in a production before hundreds of people the day before Mardi Gras! Oh yes, Cassandra Moreau must be far more persuasive than I am!"

"I didn't do it for her! I did it for Labreau," he said, kicking his boots aside.

"You lied to me," she said, yanking back the coverlet on their bed. "Admit it!"

"I didn't lie," he shouted. "The part is relatively small and once it's over I will never sing in public again. Labreau needed help. He is our friend!"

"I saw you and her," Meg spat.

"You saw us doing what? Talking out in the open with Labreau and our daughter standing nearby? How scandalous!"

"She had her hand on your arm and was looking at you with those cat eyes of hers! I could tell by the way you looked at her that she had you in the palm of her hand. Don't act like you are doing this purely out of friendship for Labreau!"

"Do you really want to do this now? Now, the night before you run off to Mexico for two weeks?" He began shedding his clothes, staring resentfully at her locked trunk by their door. "Should I not accompany you to the docks in the morning?"

"No need. After all, Labreau expects you at the Opéra tomorrow morning for rehearsals. Wouldn't want you to disappoint him or Mademoiselle Moreau." She turned off the gaslight. "Now come to bed."

He stood in the dark, burning. "I think I might sleep elsewhere tonight." He slipped his nightshirt over his head and grabbed his bed robe. "Distance from me seems to be what you want now. I won't withhold that from you."

"I don't know why you can't see how unfair this all is to me," she cried as he unlocked the door. He didn't bother to answer, and let the heavy door slam shut behind him.

When he woke in the morning, she was gone. There was no note or anything else left for him. He reined in his disappointment, and soothed himself with the fact that she would return. Perhaps by that time she would have moved past all of it. He hoped for that, in any case.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Meg pushed open the balcony doors and stepped into the warm morning sun. As she leaned against the lacy iron balcony, she felt both tired and happy. Every muscle in her body from her legs up to her shoulders ached from the night before. It was the kind of night and performance that filled her girlhood dreams. It was the kind of night she had spent hours dancing for until her feet screamed and bled. So much applause. So many diamond ringed hands reached for her as she sipped champagne. A president and his wife knew her name. Now, she was standing on a balcony of the grand home of the Mexican ambassador as the guest of he and his wife. It was as if she fell asleep and was still walking in her dreams. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of some exotic flower, taking in the pleasure of the warm stone tiles under her feet. In that moment, she felt that there was nothing that could take the happiness of that moment from her.

"Good morning _cherie_."

Meg dropped a sigh, and opened her eyes. "Good morning Mama. I thought you would still be asleep."

Madame Giry settled into one of the cushioned balcony chairs. The smile she wore was one of rare satisfaction. "I haven't slept that well or long since I was a child."

"Really," Meg laughed. "Mexico is agreeing with you?"

Madame Giry's smile was almost defiant. "Yes, your mother is capable of being content. By the way, you have been invited to perform at a charity gala by the De La Rochas."

"When?"

Madame Giry's eyes slid to the side, her smile uneasy. "Two weeks from today."

"We won't be here two weeks from today." Meg narrowed her eyes. "You didn't tell them I would be there, did you?"

Madame Giry lifted her shoulders. "You seemed so happy last night. I thought two more weeks here wouldn't be a hardship."

"You should have asked me first," Meg growled. "Lucia has never been away from me this long! And Erik_."

"She and Erik will survive. Besides, after an argument like the one you two had, a little distance and time is good. He'll be more than ready to admit he was wrong when you return."

Meg turned away, the anxiety bleeding into her new happiness. "Maybe."

Gazing down into the gardens she caught sight of someone looking up at her. There was something familiar in the man's manner. A flash of a perfect ivory smile and a wave came. The memory of him and that smile returned her to their first and very hurried meeting.

"Buenos Dias, Mademoiselle Giry!"

Her smile became as wide as his own. "It's good to see you again Don Antonio. I had no idea you had returned to Mexico City."

"Antonio, please. And I was at your performance last night. It seems you are now the talk of the city's upper echelon."

"I didn't see you," she laughed.

"You were surrounded by every playboy and wealthy matron in the city. It was an impenetrable wall of people. I knew better than to try to fight my way through that. Since you are now my sister's newest friend, I thought I would pay her and my generous brother-in-law a visit."

"It was quite a night. Perhaps we will have a chance to visit at dinner tonight. Anna Louisa said it would be a small group of her and the ambassador's friends."

"Small for my sister is 30 people," he laughed. "I'm on my way to the stables right now. Perhaps you would like to accompany me on a ride?"

Madame Giry appeared next to Meg as Antonio's eager smile slackened. " _We_ would love to accompany you Don Antonio, but Meg has other commitments today."

Meg smirked, then threw Antonio an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. We do have a luncheon to attend with your sister. Perhaps another day?"

"Of course. I look forward to seeing both you ladies again." He gave a courtly, almost mocking bow at the waist as he looked at Madame Giry. "Au revoir."

They watched him stride down the garden path towards the white stuccoed stables. Meg could feel her mother's eyes boring into her face. She raised her eyes to the blue overhead.

"Alright. Go ahead. I'm waiting."

"What I'm going to say is what you already know about young men like that, and women like us."

Meg looked Madame Giry in the eye. "Women like _us_?"

"You saw it in Paris and we have seen it in New Orleans. It's as if these wealth bastards earn badges for bedding dancers. It's an even bigger accomplishment if she's married! They love it. It's a game."

"Stop," Meg said, hand raised. "Yes. I know all that. But, I'm not like the girls you're talking about. I'm married and I have a child. I would never_."

"I know you think that you would never consider it, but I have seen it happen before. You have been married for a time. You're getting older. The attentions of a younger man like this can be intoxicating."

"And you speak from experience," Meg shot back.

Madame Giry's mouth tightened, her gaze fluttering from Meg's eyes to the ground and back again. "I had tempting offers while your father was alive and after he died. But, it never went further than flirtation. I did what I needed to do to protect myself and my reputation. You need to think of that every time he approaches you, and he will. He will keep following after you until you shut the door."

Meg turned away. "I think I'll go take a bath now. Excuse me."

"You know I'm doing this to help you," Madame Giry called after her. "You know I'm right."

* * *

Erik sat behind the curtain, watching Cassandra and the other cast members preparing for another long day of rehearsal. He had been the first to arrive, taking advantage of the empty stage to prepare himself. He and his cast mates had come to a silent understanding. When the music began, the performance was their only bond. When it was done, they would go their way and he his. The only one who didn't adhere to this was Cassandra. Even then, he caught her watching him from the stage. As usual she coaxed a smile from him. There were easy and lighthearted talks. She would ask about Lucia. They would talk about music. She would sing some obscure opera aria, and persuade him to join in. They would laugh together at Labeau as he went into one of his dramatic fits when something went wrong. She would mimic him expertly, causing Erik to laugh louder and more freely than he had in ages. Only Meg had ever succeeded in doing that.

The thought of Meg pulled him back into the grey fog of loneliness and anxious thoughts. There was no letter from either she or Madame Giry since their arrival in Mexico. When he visited Lucia at school, he struggled to answer her questions about when Meg would be returning. He had a feeling it wouldn't be on the ship that would be docking tomorrow. The heaviness of Labreau's sweaty palm on his shoulder broke him out of his thoughts.

"They sound terrible," he muttered, looking out at the assembled cast. "Please tell me at least you will be ready for the premier."

Erik tried to give him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "We have time. We will all be ready."

"From your lips to God's ear _mon ami_ ," he laughed weakly and reached into his coat pocket. "By the way, I have this for you. It came along with a letter from Antoinette."

Erik saw his name in Meg's handwriting on the small envelope. "I'm sure it's a letter telling me that she won't be back for the premier."

"I hate to tell you that you're right," he sighed. "Antoinette said they have been overwhelmed with invitations and attention there. I'm starting to think that she would prefer to remain there."

"I doubt that," Erik said, taking the letter from Labreau. "Your goddess will return to you."

"Right now, I have no energy left to worry about that. Not with this fiasco happening," he gestured at the stage. "Today will be long _mon ami_. Very long." Labreau tore his cream woolen coat off as he marched onto the stage, tossing out threats and criticisms. As he flew off on his usual morning tirade, Erik found a quiet corner backstage where he opened Meg's letter.

 _Erik,_

 _I'm afraid my time away from you and Lucia will be longer than I expected. Unfortunately, Mama has decided to accept the invitation to be the guests of Doña Anna Louisa Conteres Espinoza at her home outside Mexico City for another week. Then I am expected to perform at an important charity gala for Doña Alicia De La Rocha the week after. Unfortunately there is no easier, or quicker way to return home. I am truly sorry mon amour._

 _Tell Lucia I am thinking of her and am missing her more than she could ever imagine._

 _All My Love,_

 _Meg_

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath as he stared down at the letter.

 _Mama has decided..._

 _I am expected to..._

He shook his head, crushing the paper in his fist. He knew Meg. She was as strong willed as Antoinette, and never did anything unless she wanted to. If she truly wanted to be home, she would have been, and there was nothing Antoinette or anyone else could have done to stop her. The truth was she was still in Mexico because she wanted to be, and for no other reason.

"So when are you going to come out of hiding?" Cassandra was standing before him, her cherry like lips curled into a playful smile.

He quickly shoved the letter into the pocket of his coat to follow her. "I'm ready now."

* * *

"May I walk out with you?"

He turned to find Cassandra standing behind him as he buttoned his coat. "I thought you had left with the rest of the cast."

She grinned. "I had enough of them for the day. Do you mind?"

Erik opened the door that led out into the street, "Not at all. My carriage is right outside. I can take you wherever you need to go."

"I am renting a room down the street. Not too far to walk."

"It's too late for you to walk alone," he said, opening the carriage door.

The smile she gave him was uncharacteristically shy. "Thank you."

With the door shut and directions given to Henri, the carriage moved on. At first, there was an awkward silence between them. It was the first time they had ever been completely alone. He tried not to stare as she glanced out the window. His eyes roamed from the wisps of golden hair that escaped the jeweled pins, down to her lips and the graceful slope of her pale neck.

Without turning, she spoke, "I'm going to have your voice in my head for the next two days."

He dropped his eyes. "It was a long rehearsal. I think I might have Blanche's voice in mine, unfortunately."

She turned to him laughing. "I meant what I said as a compliment."

Keeping his eyes ahead, he struggled to sound indifferent. "Thank you."

"So where will you be spending the next two days," she asked.

"I'm going home to Maison Azelée." He tried to smile, but the thought of returning to a mostly empty house was not so comforting.

"Will Lucia be able to join you," she asked.

"Unfortunately no," he sighed.

"Labreau has told me about your home. He said that it has one of the most beautiful gardens anywhere."

"Not so much right now," he said. "When Spring comes."

"Perhaps I will come by for a visit some time," she said.

"You are always welcomed." When he looked at her, he felt that strong and shameful rush of feeling. He had fooled himself into thinking he had mastered it, but now it seemed to creep its way through him. He was grateful when he felt the carriage slowing to a stop.

She smiled at him. "Thank you. And I will see you soon."

He kept his eyes locked ahead, and nodded. "Good night."

Once the carriage was on the road again, he waited for relief to come, but it didn't. The distance between himself and the city did nothing to separate her from his thoughts. As the lighted windows of Maison Azelée came into his view, he hoped that the two days would be enough to settle his mind back on Meg. He greeted Lysette quickly, and hurried upstairs. With the gaslights on, he seated himself at his writing desk, blank page in front of him. He tried to ignore Meg's face peering out at him from the silver framed picture to his left. He put pen to paper and began to write.

 _Dear Meg__

He stopped. No words came to mind that weren't angry. No words of grace or understanding, only hurt and anger. He tried writing again, but after putting lines through every weak word, and going through several sheets of paper, he gave up. Whatever he needed to say to Meg would have to wait.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Meg slipped out of the open set of doors into the moonlight, and hurried down the long flight of stone stairs into the gardens. Looking over her shoulder, she picked up her pace hurrying through the maze of hedges like a naughty child on the run from authority. A stone bench was her first stop. Hiking up the skirt of her burgundy velvet gown, she quickly unlaced slipped off the punishing heels she was wearing, and continued on her way. She didn't care if it seemed rude to her hosts or anyone else, she had to get away. Standing in that packed room, being stared out like some caged exotic animal had become too much. The "intimate" gathering Anna Louisa had planned was out of her control, with guests bringing two or more friends to meet "that dancer". At first it was overwhelming, and then it turned ridiculous. No, she didn't feel the least bit guilty about her spontaneous escape. Out of the clouds of cigar smoke, she felt she could finally breathe. As she strolled, she turned her face up into the somber light of the moon, taking her final turn into the center of the maze. She didn't realize that she wasn't entirely alone until she smelled traces of cigarette smoke. Turning around, she spotted Antonio leaning against the base of a marble statue of some mythological goddess. Standing beside her perfect marble beauty, he looked like he could have been her consort; wavy haired, tall, masculine perfection. He took one last elegant drag off his cigarette and quickly ground it out under the heel of his polished leather shoe.

"One of the few vices I have," he laughed softly.

"There are worse," she said, joining him beside the statue. "Are you escaping too?"

"I left long before dinner," he shrugged.

"Your poor sister was panicking at the number of uninvited guests," she said, with pity.

"How did you manage to get away from your jailer," he grinned. "Oh apologies. Your mother, I mean."

She laughed. "No apologies necessary. She was too busy falling for flattery to notice I left. I'm starting to think I shouldn't have left her alone. She might accept yet another invitation, that will keep up here another 2 weeks."

"Are we boring you already," he teased.

"No, but there are some matters that need my attention in New Orleans. I can't stay away for too much longer."

"Speaking of New Orleans, my oldest sister Marguerita is there with my niece right now meeting with a potential husband. A young Creole millionaire. Another potential match made in hell." His laughter was dark and hollow.

"With that attitude you will never be married," she said.

He leaned into her as if he were sharing a secret. "That is exactly my plan."

"I doubt you'll get away with that," Meg whispered back.

"I can try," he muttered. "Speaking of marriage, the matter that needs your attention back in New Orleans wouldn't happen to involve Monsieur De Laval, would it?"

Meg raised her eyes to the moon again. "That's none of your affair."

"Am I allowed to ask how long he's had the pleasure and honor of being your husband?"

"We were married when I was 18. Ten, almost eleven years ago."

He lifted his thick dark brows. "It's hard to imagine that you have been a wife for that long, with a daughter of eight."

She cocked a brow. "I never told you about Lucia."

He gave her an almost embarrassed smile. "I made polite inquiries."

The smile she gave in return was forgiving. "What else did you find out about me?"

He stroked his chin in a show of thoughtfulness. "I recall being told that Monsieur De Laval is an older gentleman. A bit of a puzzle."

"Yes, Erik is very private," she breathed. "And he is older, but that's not uncommon."

"No. Definitely not uncommon here in my world. Most of these young pretty virgins are sold off to rich old men who look like pot bellied pigs in their ties and tails."

She laughed loudly, shaking her head. "That wasn't at all how things were between Erik and I."

"So, it was a love match." There was the slightest hint of derision in his words.

"Yes, it was," she replied. "It is. We are very happy."

He smiled at her as if she were a child trying to defend a fairy tale. "Of course."

"Perhaps you will eventually find someone who you will be just as happy with," she offered.

"Do you ever wonder where life would have led you, had you not married and become a mother so young," he asked.

She grasped for an answer, then shrugged. "I haven't ever really given it much thought."

"I think it had to have crossed your mind at least once." His dark eyes staid relentlessly pinned to hers.

"Very briefly," she confessed. "I think we all have moments where we wonder where life would have taken us had we made another choice."

"You know where I think you would have ended up," he asked. "Dancing in cities all over the world. Enjoying moonlight conversations with strangers in garden mazes in your bare feet." His eyes traveled down slowly from her face, to her feet in the grass, then up again. "Perhaps we would have met sooner."

Anna Louisa's voice echoed through the gardens, calling his name. He let his head fall back, groaning. "My luck has run out, it seems. She's been after me to meet this young heiress. Coffee plantations all over Columbia. I don't even like coffee."

"Antonio!"

He reluctantly began walking towards the maze, but stopped to look at her. "We could always run away. There is usually a train or a ship ready to leave somewhere."

"Go," she laughed, waving him away.

"I know," he sighed wearily. "Do my duty. Kiss the heiress's hand and try to run like hell. That's my escape plan."

"Good luck," she whispered.

Giving her one last lingering look, he turned and walked back into the maze.

* * *

Sitting on the balcony, Erik could see the barest hint of life in grey garden below. He usually favored the winter, when things were peaceful and still, but now he longed for Spring. He longed for color. Anything that would make the space below him seem full and alive again. The silent house and the absence of both Meg and Lucia ate away at him. It made him second guess his decision to leave the city for it. As he looked over the land, he caught sight of Lysette making her discreet return from Henri's bed in the carriage house to the door to the kitchen. It use to make him smile, but now, he felt soured. Leaving his seat on the balcony, he slammed the doors behind him, and hurried to dress. He wanted to get out. To ride hard and away. Maybe then he would feel something more than bitterness biting at his mind.

As he dressed, he thought he heard the sound of horses hooves on the gravel path outside. He couldn't see it from the windows, but Lysette's voice calling to him was confirmation.

"Monsieur! We have company!"

The possibility of it being Meg sent his rushing downstairs. Lysette followed him to the door.

"Would you like for me to see who it is first," she asked.

"No," he muttered pulling the door open.

For a moment he was sure it was her. The door opened, and the figure inside was dressed in a white traveling suit, blonde hair curling down her back under a wide brimmed hat. He found himself smiling, and ready to lift her off the ground and into his arms. But, then she lifted her face to him, and he felt a punch of disappointment mixed with something else. He recovered his smile, and quickly took Cassandra's gloved hand.

"I know I wasn't expected, but I had to get out of the city," she explained, her voice was pure sweetness and honey.

"No need to explain. As I said to you yesterday, you are always welcomed. Come inside." He chose to ignore the slant eyed look that Lysette was aiming at him, as he showed Cassandra inside.

She walked ahead, her pretty mouth parted in admiration as she gazed up at the grand chandelier and the beams overhead. "This truly beautiful, Erik. Now, I see why Labreau loves it here." From there, he watched her go straight to the piano.

"I was thinking about taking a walk or a ride. We could go later, if you would like," he offered.

She ran her hand over the mahogany finish, looking at the stacks of sheet music. "Is any of this yours?"

"I compose from time to time, but end up burning most of it," he said.

Her eyes immediately went to the leather folio with his monogram. "I have a feeling not all of your work has met the fire. Perhaps I can persuade you to play some of it for me." The smile she gave him was the one that made him bend. She knew it.

He smiled blandly at her, and opened the glass doors to the gardens. "Let's talk a walk instead."

Reluctantly, she moved on from the piano and walked out with him into the crisp morning.

* * *

Lysette watched for them through the windows as Henri enjoyed a cup of coffee. More than an hour had passed since Erik and his strange guest had left. It woke up Lysette's protective instincts.

"They've been gone too long," she muttered, his eyes fixed on the row of trees beyond the garden.

Henri took another sip of coffee. "You can't seriously tell me that you believe something improper is going on."

"Not yet," she said. "But, that woman didn't come here just for a stroll and conversation."

"Erik would never hurt Meg," he argued.

"I never worried about him making a stupid mistake before. When that Daée woman came, I had a feeling about her as well. But, he sent her away. This one worries me even more. She's clever."

"You're worrying too much," he said, rubbing the back of her neck.

"No, I'm not. The night before Meg left, they slept apart. They had an argument that I could hear clear across the house. And that wasn't the first argument they've had like that. Things have changed ever since_." She paused, stifling her emotion. "Losing that little one somehow put a wedge between them. I don't know why. Now, he's alone, and this woman is working her hooks into him."

"So what are you going to do? Go out there, and drag her to the gate by her hair," Henri laughed, leaning down to kiss her cheek. " _Mon amour_ , I know how much you care for him and Meg and Lucia. But, you have to trust that Erik will do what is right. He has before, and I know he will again. Now, come back inside before we both freeze over."

Henri shut the doors, but Lysette's hazel eyes remained glued to what was beyond the glass.

* * *

"I've enjoyed my time here with you," Cassandra said, gazing across the dinner table at Erik. "I hope I haven't imposed."

Erik smiled and set aside his empty wine glass. "Not at all. It's been good to have some company. With both Meg and Lucia gone, the house has been much too empty."

"When will Madame de Laval be returning," she asked.

Lysette arrived and brusquely grabbed the empty plate from in front of her. Cassandra gave her a terse smile, and returned her attention to Erik.

"She will be gone two more weeks. There is some charity gala that she was asked to perform at." Erik lifted his shoulders, his lips set in a thin line.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know the separation must be difficult."

Lysette continued circling the table, taking her time. Erik dropped his napkin onto his plate, aiming an impatient look at her. "You don't need to clear the table just yet Lysette."

"Apologies Monsieur," she mumbled. "Should I get Henri to ready the carriage to take Mademoiselle Moreau back to the city?"

Cassandra's smile was forced as she looked up at Lysette. "That is so kind of you. I know it's very late, and I'm sure I've overstayed my welcome."

"It is late," Erik said glancing at the Louis XV clock on the mantle. "Too late for you to be on the road."

Lysette sighed, dropping the plates onto the silver tray with a loud clatter. "I suppose that means I should prepare one of the guest rooms for Mademoiselle."

Cassandra looked Lysette in the eye, smiling like a cat cornering some small prey. "You are so kind. _Merci_ Lysette."

* * *

She knew that she had to be patient. Waiting by the window in the dark, she watched the upstairs window of the carriage house, with it's waning candlelight. She knew that once that light went out that it would mean Henri wouldn't be entertaining the sultry Lysette. It didn't take her long to figure out the connection between them. An intimate smile exchanged. His hand on the small of her back. Neither of them were even aware that she was watching them, as she listened to Erik play the piano after dinner. The rest of her plans hinged on fooling Lysette into thinking she didn't need to play her self appointed role as Erik's protector. Not long after dinner, she faked a head ache. Hand on her forehead, she moaned and carried on as Lysette handed her some small bottle, and told her to take three good swallows. She passed the small bottle under her nose. The strong, uninviting scent of Valerian filled her nostrils.

 _Clever amateur. Have me passed out on pure Valerian, and trouble is averted._

She turned her back on Lysette and pretended to take the prescribed amount. What little she really drank down wouldn't be enough to do her plans any harm. After changing into a borrowed nightgown, she turned the gas lamps out. She knew that she heard Lysette's light footsteps come to her door twice. Now, it was past one in the morning, and Erik was still awake. Through the crack in her door, she could see the light under his. She had guided him to reveal that he hadn't slept much since Meg was away. Their entire talk during their tour of the gardens was very useful.

As time ticked by, she continued her quiet surveillance of the grounds outside. "Come on you intrusive bitch," she muttered. "Go give your man what he wants."

Minutes later, she caught a robed Lysette, making the short walk from the house to Henri's. After the door to the carriage house closed, the light went out. Cassandra smiled and let the curtain drop.

* * *

She stoked the dying fire in the hall fireplace, adding small logs until it came back to life. Then she seated herself at the piano, lifting the cover and sliding a fingertip gently over the keys. As she did, her eyes went back to the leather folio laying nearby. She reached for it, and untied the gold braided string. There were no great expectations on her part as she began looking over the sheet music. She had several men her in past who fancied themselves the next Chopin or Mozarts in the making. But, as she took in the notes in Erik's hand that wound themselves across the page, her doubts were gone. The music was a story in itself that led her to places that she never expected to go just reading a piece of sheet music. She could hear it and feel it all as she flipped from one page to another.

 _No. You're not like the others at all..._

"Cassandra?"

She looked up at him with a smile that was both guilty, and yet unashamed. "Yes, you've caught me."

He continued down the stairs, his face creased with lines of annoyance. "I think you understood I didn't want to share that."

She kept the folio in her hands. "It should be heard. My God, Erik it's brilliant. Why wouldn't you share it?"

He held out his hand for it. "I have my reasons."

She kept it in hand, still smiling "Would you play some of it for me?"

"Cassandra," he sighed, hand still outstretched.

"Just a minute of it. Any part you choose."

He shut his eyes, and breathed, "You are impossible."

"Humor me for just a minute, and then to bed." She slid to the edge of the piano bench and opened the folio for him.

He opened his eyes and surrendered. "Only once, and then you will forget it."

"I won't tell anyone," she promised.

He nodded, and took a seat next to her. Flipping through several pages, he finally settled on one as she moved closer. What he chose was dark. His fingers struck the keys and what came out sounded like a storm. Every note was like lightning striking or the wind tearing through a tree until it bowed. Then he was done. He closed the folio and set it aside.

"Impressive," she whispered.

"I wrote that piece long ago. When I first came here actually."

She moved in closer until her shoulder touched his arm. "Tell me your story. I hear so many about you. I would love to know the truth."

"It's not that interesting," he kept his eyes lowered. He was lying, of course.

"Erik, you are really my only friend here. I want to know more about you. Even if what you tell me bores me to tears, I am curious."

"You are too curious," he sighed.

"If I hadn't been curious, I wouldn't be here. And you would have spent a boring evening with Lysette fussing over you. You should be glad I'm so curious," she laughed.

A small crack in his defenses showed through with a slight curve at the corner of his mouth. "She's a bit protective of me and my family. Always has been."

"I understand," she said. "How about this? I will share one thing about myself, and then you do the same. Anything you like."

He finally laughed. "I already know one thing for certain about you. You are relentless."

"True," she laughed in agreement. "I have had to be. I didn't come from money. I had a mother who shopped me around to every vocal teacher until she found one who would take me on. I had to work hard. Harder than any child should. Paris is a cold and beautiful city."

"It is," he murmured.

"Now you," she pressed.

He took his time, as she expected. "My mother was a soprano. She is the reason I fell in love with music."

"Is she still alive?"

"No," he whispered, shaking his head. "She died when I was 10."

"I'm sorry." She laid a light hand on his shoulder. He went rigid at her touch, but he made no move to shrug it away.

"What made you decide to leave Paris," he asked.

Let the fiction begin. "I was tired of Paris. Of being overlooked for roles that I knew I could fill. Tired of being in a chorus. New Orleans seemed like a good idea. A chance to begin again, and maybe be heard for once."

He nodded. "Yes. It is that kind of city."

"And you? Why did you come?"

There was more hesitation as he struggled to tell. "I made Meg's mother a promise. She wanted Meg to have what you described. A new start. She couldn't leave Paris, and I was the only one she trusted enough to see Meg safely here. Once we arrived, I decided to stay."

"And are you glad you did," she asked.

"Yes," he replied, looking her in the eye for the first time. "I have been happy here."

Have been. There was the opening she had waited for. "And now?"

He began to stand up. "And now I think we both need to go to bed."

She grabbed hold of his hand, and followed him up. "I think you need to be happy again."

"I am," he said, voice strained. "My life here is good. Don't mistake what I said."

"It's good, but I think we both know it could be more," she said, keeping her voice low and gentle.

"There isn't anything else I want," he said.

She guided his hand up and settled it against her cheek. "I know there is." For a moment she felt him begin to bend to her. But, then it was over.

He pulled his hand away. "Good night, Cassandra."

She watched his retreat up the stairs, and then behind his bedroom door.

* * *

When she awoke the next morning, everything unfolded as she expected. He was gone, and there was a note waiting for her on the breakfast tray that a very cheerful Lysette placed in front of her. Smiling, she opened the brief note as Lysette pretended to make up the bed behind her.

 _Cassandra,_

 _Please continue to enjoy the hospitality of my home this morning. I will be away for the remainder of the day. Henri will drive you back to New Orleans. I will see you tomorrow night for the premier._

 _Erik_

"If you are ready to leave Mademoiselle, Henri and the carriage are ready," Lysette informed her.

Cassandra smiled at her as if they were bonded friends. "You have been so helpful. Whatever you gave me worked a miracle last night. I've never slept better."

" _Bien_. Enjoy your breakfast, and safe travels." Lysette left her with her most insincere smile.

After one sip of coffee and milk, she was in the carriage and on her way back to New Orleans. As they rolled down the bayou road, she felt satisfied. Of course, it would have been better had he done what some of her other marks had done by rushing into the seduction. But, she knew that Erik would take more work than that. Besides, she wasn't being paid to rush. She was being paid to get the job done, and done well. Of course, there was nothing to stop her from enjoying this little game she was playing with him. It gave her an incredible amount of pleasure knowing that he went to bed with her on his mind. There was more to be done before the night of the premier. But, she was certain that by the end of that night she would have him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"I'm glad that you finally decided to accept my invitation," Antonio said, as they rode their white Andalusians out of the stables.

"And I'm sure you're also glad that my mother did not," Meg laughed.

"Actually, I was very disappointed she didn't come." Winking at Meg, he urged his horse to a gallop.

He took her through miles of agave fields, pointing out sights along the way. There were stories about his childhood, some funny and some outrageous. They continued riding hard with the hot afternoon sun on their backs until they reached the weathered shell of an old mission. Antonio slowed to a stop, and dismounted.

"I haven't been here since I was a boy," he said, helping Meg dismount. As he did his hands lingered at her waist.

Meg smiled, peeling his hands away. "Give me the tour."

"It's been abandoned for years. Poor travelers sometimes use it for shelter," he said, leading her to the weathered doors of the gate. With a loud groan of rusted out hinges, it opened just enough to let them in.

Meg's eyes went wide at the unexpected sight that welcomed them. Bushes with flowers of vibrant yellows and orange formed a halo around a massive juniper tree that shaded them from the sun. Antonio, waved her on.

"There is more. This place has been here since the 1600's."

She followed behind, looking up at the archways overhead as they walked through the cloisters. "It feels like we're back in Europe."

"Do you miss it," he asked.

"Sometimes, I do," she admitted.

"You should go back. Take Lucia with you. She should see Paris and all the great cities."

"I want her to." Meg knew she could never tell him why they couldn't return to Paris. "Perhaps, when she's older."

"So, you are content with living in New Orleans," he asked.

"It's home now," she sighed, purposely walking ahead of him towards a massive set of doors. A skull and crossbones were etched into the aged stone above them. "What's through here?"

"This is the best part of all," he said, pushing hard against the doors. The light from behind them spilled into what was once the church.

"My God," Meg gasped walking in. There were still remnants of the high altar left, with burnt out candles set in clusters all around it. She could still smell the incense, as if it had seeped into every stone. An old weathered statue of the Virgin Mary looked down at the them from a corner. "This is beautiful."

"It's also very haunted," he said, his tone playfully sinister.

"Of course it is," she laughed, staring up at the faded faces of saints and angels on the vaulted ceiling.

Antonio walked on, but she remained behind, turning on her toes and taking in everything around her. The space was so open, that she couldn't resist the childlike urge to use it. She pirouetted on the tips of her ridings boots, her blue skirts swirling around her. He laughed at her, giving light applause.

"Even in boots, you look like you're flying," he said, leaning against one of the pillars. What she saw in his eyes was what she saw when he left her in the garden that night. There was none of the usual playfulness. The look in them dared her to move closer. To forget everything else, but the two of them and that moment. It would have been so easy to do.

Meg took one step back. "We should go."

Lifting his shoulders, he gestured towards the doors. "Of course, if that is what you really want?"

Meg nodded and backed her way out the doors.

* * *

"Where the hell have you been the last two days?" Labreau followed Erik down the backstage hall to his dressing room. "Are you going to tell me why you didn't bother showing up for the last two rehearsals?"

Erik threw off his coat and began unknotting his silk tie. "I had my reasons. But, I'm here now and I'm ready."

"You have no idea the troubles I've weathered these last two days," Labreau groaned, hand on his sweaty forehead.

Erik gave into a smile. "Yet, you have survived."

"So far," he sighed. "So what kept you away? It isn't Lucia, is it?"

"No. Nothing to do with Lucia. After tonight, all will be well."

" _Bien_ ," Labreau breathed slapping Erik's back on his way to the door. "As long as you show up and sing brilliantly, that's all I care about right now!" The door slammed shut behind Labreau. Erik was grateful for the quick exit. It would give him time to think and prepare himself for the night.

As he changed into his costume, he felt a calm resolve. Tonight would be the end of the entire episode with Cassandra. The performance would be a goodbye. No more talking, or keeping the door to his life open for her. When he left the opéra that night, that would be the end of it. Then, he would return to Maison Azelée, and wait for Meg. Life would return to normal. That was his plan.

A familiar rapid knocking at his door gave Labreau away. "Yes, Labreau!"

Labreau craned his head in. "Not to disturb you _mon ami_ , but you have two very _important_ ladies who have asked to meet you."

"Your stress on the word important tells me that you have already decided that this meeting will happen. So, you might as well show them in." Erik rose from his seat, steeling himself for vapid talk and a show of excessive politeness.

His visitors entered; two women wrapped in satin and furs, dark hair and slender necks dripping with jewels. Each held a mask in her gloved hand. The elder of the pair extended a wand like hand first, as the younger stood sullenly aside as if she were about to fall over from boredom. Labreau quickly stepped in with the introductions.

"Erik De Laval. May I introduce Doña Marguerita Conteres Sanchez and her daughter Doña Silvia."

Erik politely kissed both of the extended hands as the small talk began. Thankfully Labreau was a maestro at conducting meaningless conversations. "Dona Marguerita just happens to be the sister of Meg's hosts in Mexico," he informed Erik.

Erik smiled broadly. "I know Meg is honored by your sister and her husband's hospitality. I'm also grateful that they have opened their home to her."

"My sister is the one who is honored," Doña Marguerita said. "She saw your beautiful wife dance when she was last here. My younger brother Antonio was here a month ago as well. We only just saw her dance a week ago for the president. All of us are very taken with her, as you can imagine."

"Especially, my uncle," muttered Doña Silvia.

Erik caught the look of warning Doña Marguerita shot her daughter. The young girl lifted her thin shoulders, dark eyes dropping in forced apology.

"We are _all_ fond of her," Doña Marguerita said with a nervous smile. "It's so exciting to be here tonight for your Mardi Gras. I understand this is your debut?"

Erik nodded, smile painfully forced. "Yes."

"I'm certain it will be wonderful," Doña Marguerita said, backing her way out the door. "It was so good to meet you Monsieur De Laval."

Erik silently inclined his head as Labreau stepped in to rush the meeting to a close. With the door shut, Erik dropped back into his chair, the entire awkward scene winding itself through his mind over and over. Yes, he remembered the night Don Antonio was there for many reasons. He recognized him from his picture in the papers. A handsome and sought after bachelor. A fine Spanish pedigree that could be traced all the way back to some ruthless Conquistador. When he entered his opéra box that night, Erik remembered the attention he attracted. Every feminine head, and a few of the men's, were turned. But, the young Don seemed oblivious to it all. During the performance, he noticed Don Antonio seated absurdly close to the edge of his box, his eyes following Meg's every step. He hadn't given it more thought since then. It had become buried under the rest of his memories of that night. But, now he felt himself running hot and cold as fear took him over like an illness. Never, since their first night together, had he ever feared losing Meg to another man. There had been other young and handsome admirers who swarmed around her after performances, but he never felt threatened. She always came back to him, her love so clear in every way. Now, it all seemed to make sense. One letter filled with excuses. Her prolonged absence. The cold grip of fear again turned hot as anger had its way. He couldn't think. All he could do was feel and burn

The door opened once again, as Labreau stepped in. "It's time _mon ami_. Come!"

* * *

Stepping onstage was like losing himself. He willingly let Erik go and became Don Ottavio. When he saw Cassandra, her body cinched into an exquisite black lace gown, he felt his earlier resolve melt down to nothing . They circled each other, singing and sharing looks of two people who wanted only to be together. Yet, he couldn't completely put Meg, and the anger he was feeling away.

When his moment came to sing _Dalla Sua Pace_ he poured himself out for the audience. The pain and emotion vibrated through every word he sang, and every gesture. The final note was meant to be sung softly, but he defied that. With all his breath and heart he let the last note fly, and with it all his love, anger and longing for Meg. For a brief moment, all was silent as he stared out into the stunned faces of the crowd. Then a loud cry of BRAVO cut the silence apart. Everyone was on their feet. The applause seemed to go on until the orchestra began playing, forcing everyone back to their seats. Erik stepped offstage, crowded immediately by Labreau and some of the cast members.

"You are a legend," Labreau laughed, tears in his eyes. "There is no way anyone will be able to come into this opéra house and fill this role again!"

Erik said nothing, mutely accepting the congratulations of everyone around him. Hanging apart from the crowd was Cassandra. She made no move to speak, but remained against the wall watching him. They remained apart until the music brought them back together in the alternate world on stage. Singing in her exquisite soprano, she held him and everyone in the audience firmly in her power. Watching her sing, he felt consumed by music in a way he hadn't been since the Opéra Populaire. He was lost in every nuance and every note she sang. Then, she turned to him one final time, moving towards him just as they had rehearsed. Instead of taking him by the hand, she caught his face in her soft hands. Staring down at her, he saw the intention in her eyes. He willingly followed her into the kiss, his hands going to her back, pulling her closer. In that moment, he felt justified. He wanted to kiss her. Why shouldn't he, knowing what he knew about Meg?

The collective gasp from the crowd did nothing to break them apart. He could hear Labreau's panicked voice offstage.

"Meastro. Next scene. GO!"

Cassandra pulled away, and led Erik offstage behind her, as the next scene began. Behind the backdrop, and away from most of the prying eyes, she tried to touch him again. But, he turned away. The desire for Cassandra and the anger towards Meg that drove him into the kiss were gone. In their place, was only shame.

She laid a hand on his back. "Look at me."

"It was just a moment," he whispered, shaking his head as he began walking away. "It was a mistake."

"No," she said, hurrying to stand in his way. "Erik! You want to be with me. Why deny that?"

He grabbed her shoulders, pushing her away. "You know why. I love my wife, and no matter how I feel, I can't do this. Stay away from me Cassandra. Please."

Leaving her, he went to stand by Labreau, who gave him a critical eye.

"What happened out there," he asked.

Erik kept his eyes on the performance. "Something that will never happen again."

* * *

As the opéra house seats were removed and the masked guests poured in, the champagne flowed backstage. Despite the awkward and unexpected moments, the performance was considered by everyone to be a triumph. Labreau raised his glass to the cast as the glasses were being passed around.

"And to think I once believed you were all hopeless," he laughed. "Now, I couldn't be prouder!"

"We once thought you were hopeless too," Julian, their Don Giovanni, shot back. The rest of the cast laughed in agreement.

Labreau rolled his eyes. "Alright. Alright. Let's just agree that we've all come far since the start!"

Erik tried to smile along with the rest of the cast as he listened to Labreau's long winded monologue. Cassandra eased her way around some of the cast to stand next to him, two glasses of champagne in her hands.

"Here," she whispered, extending one to him.

"I'd rather not," he murmured, keeping his eyes on Labreau.

She moved in closer. "Erik, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. It was wrong to do what I did, and I am sorry. Please believe me."

The sadness in her voice brought down his resistance. He looked at her, and nodded. "I hope you mean that."

She smiled, and held out the glass of champagne again. "Of course I do. Let's drink to a new start."

He took the glass of champagne, but without a smile. "Of course."

"Cheers," she whispered, bringing the glass to her lips.

Together, they drank their champagne down.

* * *

He felt hot. Looking at his reflection in his dressing room mirror, he saw the sweat beading on his forehead. Wiping it away, he continued dressing. But, as he did, a sudden feeling came over him. The exhaustion from the night's events was gone. Instead, he felt restless. Through the walls he could hear and feel the music and the laughter of the masquerade. Suddenly, what he once avoided, he wanted. That feeling he had when the crowd was on its feet for him. The way the music seemed to dig itself into his soul. He wanted it again, and he wanted it all that second. Then he was at the door, pulling it open and stalking down the dimly lit halls to try to get to the opéra floor. He wanted to be in the center of the music and the frenetic energy of the crowd that seemed to pierce the walls around him. If he couldn't, he felt he would go insane.

Then through the haze of all the feeling, he saw her. She was waiting at the end of the hall, dressed in the white, pearl studded gown she had worn during her last performance. A white satin mask covered most of her face, and her hair flowed down her back. She looked like an angel. As he got closer, she began to walk away.

"Meg," he called out.

She continued walking in that way that always drove him mad; hips swaying, back divinely straight, the scent of orange blossom in her wake. He followed her out of the dark hallway and into the brightly lit madness of the masquerade. The music was like a force that pushed him into crowds of harlequins, queens, and other masked strangers. There were hands touching him as he passed through. Invitations to stay and dance. A part of him wanted to say yes. To drown in all the sounds and energy that were siwrling around him. To accept the touches of the beautiful of women who begged him not to leave. But, then he saw her again, waiting for him in the doorway.

He wanted to stay, but he wanted her more.

She turned her back and walked out. Pushing his way through the crowds, he didn't stop until he was outside in the cold night. Again, he found her waiting for him. Wherever she walked he followed, like a dog on a leash. He felt like he was starving and desperate. All of the rawest emotions he had fought to suppress for so many years were alive and driving him after her. He didn't care where she was taking him, he would follow. The strange journey ended in a dark courtyard, where she allowed him to catch her.

She grabbed his hand, and led him through a door way. When the door shut behind them, the chase was over. He grabbed her up, lifting her off the floor, and dropping her onto a table. Tearing the delicate white satin open, pearls shot in all directions, ricocheting off the walls and floor. There was nothing underneath, but her skin. He grasped her hips and pulled her to the edge of the table, as she quickly unfastened his trousers. Their bodies collided, as he thrust himself inside her. He pressed his forehead to hers, looking into her eyes through the slits in her mask.

"Tell me you love me," he demanded.

" _Je t'aime_ ," she whispered, digging her nails into his back.

"No one else," he breathed.

" _Non_ ," she moaned.

He thrust harder "I don't believe you."

" _S_ _eulement toi_."

"Tell me again."

"No one else," she cried. "Only you."

* * *

 _Maybe I won't kill you after all..._

She laid beside him, feeling as if she herself were the one who was drugged. Everything that happened was as unexpected and wild as the carnival in the streets. They moved as one from the table, to the floor, and at last to her bed. All the while, he had control of her. For once, she didn't fight it. He made her love it. When it was over, he clung to her body as if we wanted to disappear inside her. Laying there, she didn't feel any fear of what would happen when he woke up. The mask she was wearing had long since come off.

 _You knew it was me. You did..._

Now, the only real complication wasn't his stupid wife, but her clients. They had paid her a small fortune to come to New Orleans and get rid of him. She could have done that easily during the champagne toast. Her usual poison of choice, mixed by her own hand, was always quick to do the job. By the time he would have succumbed, Cassandra Moreau would have vanished without a trace. But, she couldn't bring herself to end it. Not then. She hadn't worked this hard not to get something more than just a case full of American money. Now that she had tasted it, she couldn't imagine giving him up. She could send her clients a telegram telling them the job was done. Even if that failed to convince them, she still had enough money from her other ventures to go anywhere and live well. They would do that together. Now that he knew exactly what life with her could be, he wouldn't say no.

The sound of him stirring, drew her closer to him. He groaned, turning his head from the morning sun coming through her window. When he opened his eyes, she was certain her fantasy would continue. She would easily assuage his guilt. They would spend the rest of the day in bed, making their plans. Instead, he shut his eyes to her, and fought to get out of bed. When he tried to stand up, he grabbed his head, and fell back onto the edge.

"What the hell did you give me," he growled.

"I'm not sure what you mean," she said, her face a mask of innocence and confusion."You seemed completely sober when you followed me here." She leaned over to stroke his arm.

He beat her hand away. "Don't touch me!"

"I already did _mon amour_ ," she purred. "And you loved it. Maybe if we did again what we did last night_."

He hurried out of bed, struggling to gather his clothing. "I can't believe you would do this!"

"I still don't know what you mean," she said, following him out of bed.

"Stop lying," he said, looking at her in disgust. "You slipped something in my champagne! Then you pretended to be Meg. You purposefully wore her dress, and your hair down like hers. Even her perfume!"

"I don't know what you mean," she laughed. Stooping down to the floor, she picked up the velvet gown she was wearing at the toast. What was left of Meg's white dress was now balled up under her mattress. "This is what I was wearing the entire night. You followed me here. And there was not one moment when you were inside me that you said her name. My mask was off, and you still didn't stop." She tried to touch him again. "Erik, don't feeling guilty for any of this. You didn't come here because you were drugged. You came here because you wanted this, and you wanted me."

He shoved her away, rushing into his clothes. "I didn't! What I remember was that I saw my wife. I followed her here, and that was who I expected to wake up beside. Not you!"

"You're lying to yourself Erik," she yelled, as he went for the door. "Don't go!"

He pushed it open. The look he gave her was pure cold hatred. "Don't you ever come near me, Meg or my child! Do you understand? I don't want to ever see your face again!"

"You don't mean that," she called after him. "I know the truth, and so do you!"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 _5 Days Later_

"Good morning Valentina," Meg greeted, Doña Anna's maid. "Is she ready for visitors? I have a small gift that I wanted to give to her before we leave in the morning."

Valentina looked at the small lacquer box in Meg's hands, and smiled. "I'm sure she will love whatever you have for her Señora. Her sister Doña Margeurita is here. Actually, she has just returned from New Orleans."

"Really," Meg said, brows raised in surprise. "Then perhaps I shouldn't disturb them."

"Doña Marguerita is on her way out if you would like to wait," Valentina said, gesturing to the small velvet setee by the door.

"I think I will," Meg said. _"Gracias_ Valentina."

Valentia inclined her head, and left Meg to take her seat next to the partially opened door. As Meg waited she could hear the soft flow of conversation between the ladies. Then she heard her name. She left the setee and moved nearer to the door.

"Poor Meg. How humiliating." Doña Anna's voice dripped with pity. "Are you certain it was him?"

"Silvia and I met him right before the premier. There is no doubt that it was him! He was wearing that same white mask and following Mademoiselle Moreau out of the masquerade. We were in our box watching the whole scene. Everyone knows!"

"It could have simply been a coincidence that they were leaving at the same time," Doña Anna offered.

"You are far too naive little sister. After the kiss they shared on stage, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that they were leaving together."

"Marguerita, I wish you hadn't told me any of this!"

"How could I have kept this to myself?"

"Because I feel that Meg and I have become friends in the time she's been here. I just don't feel right keeping something like this from her."

"She likely knows all about it."

"I doubt that," Doña Anna argued.

"She was a dancer in Paris! You know how these stage people are. They loan their spouses out to each other. Her husband and that woman are lovers. And that is the truth."

Meg felt like the floor was being pulled from under her as she sank back against the wall. The rage and pain that vibrated through her body could have sent her to the floor, but only her pride kept her standing. Her imagination relentlessly fired one scene after another through her mind of Erik and this woman together. Blinded and sick with pain, she left the wall, tearing through the web of hallways. She passed servants, ignoring their curious looks as she went. Her hurt was like fuel, taking her body over, running her out of the doors and into the gardens. She kept going and didn't stop until she walked through the stable doors, and found him. The look in his dark eyes was one of caution as she approached.

"Meg? What is it," he asked.

She didn't answer with words. Throwing her arms around him, she crushed her mouth against his with a kiss that demanded his surrender. His hands dropped to her waist, pulling her into his body. Her conscience was screaming at her. It told her that she was selfish. But, her pain screamed louder. She couldn't stop herself. If she did, she would have to think about Erik and feel the humiliation all over again. She couldn't do it. It was too much. She needed this. She needed him.

Antonio pulled away, his laughter soft as he stroked her face. "I certainly didn't expect this."

She tried to smile through the lie that came spilling from lips. "I was thinking of you."

"Strange. I thought you were avoiding me," he said.

She leaned in to kiss him again. "I missed you. Knowing that I'm leaving tomorrow morning made me realize that I couldn't stay away."

"I wish we had more time. I feel so much of it was wasted."

"It's not too late," she whispered. "Is there somewhere we can be alone now?"

He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Tonight."

"Tell me where, and I'll meet you," she said.

"There is a suite of rooms downstairs. It has an entry door that you can access from the gardens on the south side of the maze. I'll be there after 10 tonight. Wait for me."

The kiss between them was gentle and quick.

"I will be there," she promised.

He smiled, reluctantly letting go of her hand as they separated. "I won't be able to think about anything else. Until then."

* * *

The antique clock on the mantle chimed half past nine. Meg released a shaky breath as she continued pinning up her hair. In the hours since she left Antonio she felt her desire to go through with it weakening. The attraction she had toward him was real. And had she simply been Meg Giry with no obligations or a ring on her hand, she wouldn't have second guessed her decision. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she felt nothing but confusion.

 _Am I really going to do this..._

She heard the whine of the door hinges, followed by Madame Giry's voice. "Meg? Are you done packing?"

The moment she saw her mother's face, she knew there was no use pretending. "No. As you can see, I have something else to do."

Madame Giry looked around her at the open and empty trunk, and the clothes thrown around the room. "I see. You don't look like you're ready to leave here at all. And I think I know why."

Giving out an irritated sigh, she continued fixing her hair. "Of course you do. I can never fool you can I Mama?"

"Meg, I know about what happened in New Orleans. Doña Anna came to me and told me."

"Right," Meg muttered. "Erik has been occupied by more than music, it seems."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"Why shouldn't I? That woman was the cause of our falling out anyway. From the moment I met her, I knew she wanted him. I saw it. But, I left anyway counting on him loving me enough to resist her. I was sure_." The angry shell around her cracked apart, and the pain hit. Tears poured out of her eyes, as she turned her face from her mother.

Madame Giry went to her, arms wrapped around her shoulders. "No my sweetheart. No! Please don't. Erik loves you, and you love him. If you went to that man tonight, and then found out that none of this was true, how would you feel?"

Meg couldn't answer. All she could do was cry.

"I know you well enough to know that you wouldn't be able to forgive yourself. There is no future with him. There is only one night, and a lifetime of having to move on from it. What you have with Erik is better than that. Both of you deserve a chance to make whatever has gone wrong between you right. Lucia deserves that too."

"But, suppose it is true," Meg whispered. "What then Mama?"

Madame Giry cupped Meg's face in her hands. "Then we will come through it together. I love you. But, I want you to make whatever decision you are going to make about tonight from a clear and honest place. If you decide to go to Antonio, I won't judge you. But, I want you to make that choice not out of hurt or revenge. Promise me, that you will give yourself more time to think this through. Promise me."

Meg looked into her mother's pale eyes, and knew she was right. "Alright. Alright, Mama."

Madame Giry stepped back. "I will see you in the morning _ma chere_."

Then, she was gone, leaving Meg to decide.

* * *

The clock chimed the 10 o' clock hour, but Meg never moved from her bed. She laid there, letting all her memories of Erik come and go. They stretched back to her girlhood to when she first heard his voice through the walls of the Opéra Populaire. To the days of her jealousy of Christine and her own private fantasies that she built around him. Then there was the memory of the night when she first went to him. She remembered exactly how it felt when he touched her, followed by the hours of longing when they were apart. On the heels of that memory, was the fateful afternoon when she saw him turn Christine away for the final time. Then there was Lucia. The thought of the small, sweet upturned face was her strength. It was like a life raft for her through the rough waters of her emotions, and it finally carried her to solid ground. She loved and wanted Erik, yes. But, if the rumors were true, she would survive the painful fallout. She would do it, not just for herself. She would do it for Lucia.

It was morning when she walked through Madame Giry's door. She saw the look of relief that spilled across her mother's face as they stared at each other.

"We're not going to the De La Rochas," Meg said. "We're going home."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"I need to speak with you!"

Erik continued walking through the gardens, as Labreau trailed after him. "Whatever you've heard, I don't want to discuss it!"

"Damn it Erik! Stop and look at me," Labreau shouted. "I have my questions about that, true. But, the reason I'm here has nothing to do with that. It's about Lucia!"

Erik immediately turned around. "What happened?'

"That child walked all the way from the convent to the opéra to find you," Labreau said, his voice rattled with anger. "She misses you, and I know you miss her!"

Erik's head hung with the shame at the thought of Lucia walking the city alone. "I do miss her! But, I can't be in New Orleans right now!"

Labreau narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenched. "So it is true what I heard about you and Cassandra."

Erik lifted his head, the guilt scrawled across his face. "Yes."

Labreau shut his eyes. "Why?"

"Let me explain_."

"When I heard it, I was sure it was just gossip," Labreau said. "I thought it had to have been a mistake! Some other man following her out that night, but not you!"

"She drugged me," Erik shouted. "That night during the toast, she handed me a glass of champagne. Later, I started feeling strange. As if I was wired with electricity. Nothing seemed real at all. I didn't feel like I had any control over myself. Then I saw her, wearing Meg's dress from her last performance. She was masked. Even the way she walked was exactly like Meg! In the state I was in I thought for sure that she had come back. So, I followed her. My memories of the night were both clear and then hazy. It felt real, and then not. When I woke up, and saw her next to me, I knew what happened. I am sure_."

"I don't know if I believe you," Labreau cut in. "We all saw the way you kissed her on stage! Maybe you wanted it to happen_."

"Listen to me," Erik shouted. "Labreau, you have been my friend for years. You know Meg and I better than almost anyone! Do you honestly believe that I would willingly throw my marriage away for a woman I've only known two months?"

Labreau shook his head. "I never thought you would. But, the way the two of you were together_."

"I was tempted, yes! But, after the kiss I told her to stay away from me!"

Labreau let out a weighted sigh, and dropped onto a stone bench behind them. "I don't know what to think. I want to trust what you're saying."

Erik joined him. "When we said our goodbyes that night, I told you I was leaving to come here, didn't I?"

"Yes," Labreau said.

"You saw Henri and my carriage waiting at the side entrance."

Labreau nodded. "Yes, I do remember. I invited him inside to wait for you, but he said that you wouldn't be long."

"Again, think of what you know of me. Why would I have Henri wait at the side entrance, only to walk through a crowd of strangers and out the front doors? If I had planned to run off with Cassandra, I would have taken her out the side entrance where no one would have seen us. None of what happened makes any sense if you know me."

Labreau raised his head to look at Erik, locked down in silence and thought. Shame crossed his face, then trust.

"I'm sorry, _mon ami_. This last week has been so draining. When Lucia came and I saw how upset she was, it broke me down. I was so angry and hurt for her. With that and all the rumors circling around, I just lost my senses. Forgive me?"

Erik dropped a hand on his shoulder, and nodded. "I set myself up for this. I let her in too quickly."

"I'm partly to blame," Labreau said. "Hiring her right off the street. I never bothered to write to her mentor in Paris. I should have. Perhpas we would have found out who she really was."

"But, what happened was mostly my fault," Erik admitted. "She came here a few days before the premier. Like a fool I allowed her to stay the night. Later, when we were alone, she made it clear that she wanted more from me. I thought I could control the situation. But, now you see how that turned out."

Labreau forced himself up from the bench. "I have to go!"

"What are you going to do," Erik asked.

"What I should have done before," Labreau said over his shoulder. "I'm going to send that conniving bitch packing!"

* * *

"What else are you taking Señora?"

Meg looked around at the piles of gifts that filled the suite. "As much as I can fit into my trunk. Whatever is left is yours."

Her maid inclined her head with a smile. " _Gracias Señora_ "

The sound of hard erratic knocking at the door halted their hurried packing. She heard Antonio shouting her name outside. The maid turned to her with a worried face.

"Should I let him in?"

Meg braced herself for what was coming. She expected that he would be angry with her for not coming, but she never expected what she heard on the other side of her door. The maid quickly unlocked the door and rushed aside as it flew open.

"Get out," Antonio yelled at her.

Meg sucked back her fear as he walked in. The angry man who stood before her seemed like a stranger. She stepped back, trying to create as much distance as she could between them.

"You need to calm down," she said, her hands balled into nervous fists at her side.

"You come to me, making me believe that we are finally going to be together, and now you're leaving!" He kicked a box aside as he advanced on her. "I need for you to tell me why!"

Meg stuck a hand out in warning. "I told you to calm down!"

He stopped, his face so taut with anger it looked like it would crack. "Of course. I'll be calm. You kept me waiting all night like a fool. But, of course, I'll be calm."

"When I went to you in the stable, I was hurting. I wasn't thinking. Yes, I wanted to be with you, but it wasn't right!"

"It was and it is," he countered. "I know about what your husband did to you! How he humiliated you in front of most of New Orleans. The last thing you need to be doing is packing your things!"

"I have to go back, Antonio! I have to know the truth."

"But, my sister saw everything," he protested. "He kissed another woman and then left with her! That's the truth! You don't need to go back and be hurt more than you already are Meg!"

"I love him," she cried. "I love him and I can't turn my back on that without knowing the truth for myself, and for Lucia!"

He stepped to her. "Meg. Look at me, please. Right now you have a chance for an entirely new life. One where everything is wide open for you. For us!"

"Antonio, even if I didn't love Erik and I was free, there is no chance for us."

"Yes, there is." He grabbed hold of her shoulders. "We have it right now. All you have to do is say the word, and we'll leave together!"

"I love Erik, Antonio," she whispered. "I know you don't understand."

He let go of her away, and backed away. "You want to go back to him? Humiliate yourself? Go! But, when it's over and he's gone don't think of me."

Meg shook her head at his threats. "I won't, and I hope that you do move on and find love for yourself. Then perhaps you will be able to look back and understand my choice."

He shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. "You will regret this. I know it."

Meg remained as steady as the marble goddess in the maze. "Goodbye Antonio."

* * *

"Where is she?" Labreau's voice echoed loudly through the opéra house as he went from one dressing room to another. Every face he met was blank, and every mouth dry of answers. "Cassandra Moreau! Don't stand there gaping at me as if none of you don't know!"

"She's gone, Monsieur."

He turned to look at the owner of the timid voice behind him. Nanette, the dresser stood looking up at him like a doomed mouse to a cat. Labreau approached her, trying to keep himself calm.

"And she went where," he asked, his voice strained.

Nanette shrugged. "She came a couple of hours ago, and said that she was resigning from the company. After she gathered her things from her dressing room, she stopped by your office to leave you her written resignation."

Labreau ran hard, gasping for breath as he charged through the halls to his office door. On his desk was a sheet of crisp white paper marked by neat, precise handwriting.

 _Dear Monsieur Labreau,_

 _Thank you for the opportunity to be a part of this company, but I am afraid my time here is over. My desires are calling me elsewhere. Being a man who leads by passion, I know you will understand. Again, my deepest thanks to you._

 _Cassandra Moreau_

"Claude," Labreau yelled. "Claude, get in here!"

The lanky blonde errand boy strode in. "Monsieur?"

Labreau turned Cassandra's letter over and scribbled out a note to Erik. "I need for you to run an errand for me. It will take you out of the city, past Bayou St. John." He shoved the letter into a envelope and handed it to Claude. "You are to take this to Monsieur De Laval at Maison Azelée. I want you there before dark! Take my horse!"

* * *

Cassandra balled up her fist, beating on the polished oak doors of Maison Azelée. She spotted Lysette's face in one of the windows, her jade colored eyes filled with contempt. Cassandra emitted a frustrated laugh as the curtains were shut.

 _Go ahead and close every curtain, you stupid bitch! I'm not going anywhere..._

She returned to the door, beating it again. "Erik! Erik, open up!"

The sound of the locks turning, prompted her to step back. Of course, it wasn't Erik who stepped out, but Lysette, extending a long barreled shot gun.

Eying it, Cassandra laughed. "That's no way to greet a lady."

Lysette smirked, pushing the cold barrel against her chest. "I don't see a lady here."

Cassandra smirked, keeping her eyes Lysette's face. "Do you expect me to believe that you're really going to shoot me?"

Lysette cocked the gun, and placed a finger on the trigger. "I'm more than prepared to do it."

"Wouldn't that attract some attention," Cassandra asked.

"Our nearest neighbor is two miles away. Besides, we're in the bayou. A gun fired is usually the sign of dinner being bagged, or a trespasser being taught a lesson."

Cassandra shoved the barrel away. "Erik! Erik, please come out!"

He appeared in the door way, smiling at Lysette. "You can go inside. I'll handle this."

Lysette kept the rifle aimed at her. "I think I should stay."

Erik cocked his head in the direction of the door in silent command, as Lysette sullenly obeyed. When the door was shut he turned back to her. Cassandra smiled in relief, as she moved closer to him.

"Now, we can talk privately. We have so much to discuss."

"I warned you that I never wanted to see your face again." There was an edge to his voice that she had never heard before. Before, there was always a hint of weakness that told her that he wanted to bend. But, not then.

"After what we've shared you can't mean it. I refuse to believe that!" She reached for him.

He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin. "We shared nothing! When you drug a man and trick him, there really is nothing between you."

"You're lying," she said through clenched teeth. "Even now, I can feel that you're fighting this!"

He shoved his face into to hers. "I will never love you! Do you understand? Now leave!" He shoved her back, his hand on the door handle behind him. "And if I ever find you on my property again, I will shoot you myself."

Rubbing her arm, she stared at him, feeling herself running hot with hatred and desire. His words were like a fist to her face. Yet, she wanted him even more. The door shut on his back, and she heard the locks turning.

 _This isn't the end Erik. Not even close..._

* * *

The sun had just dropped below the horizon, as Erik looked out the window. Lysette walked up beside him, a steady hand on his shoulder.

"She's finally gone?"

"Yes," he breathed. "Thank you for what you did. But, I don't need you to fight my battles for me."

She lifted her shoulders. "Sometimes, a man needs back up. Even when he's made a mistake."

The morning he returned to Maison Azelée he knew that she already understood what happened. He could see the disappointment in her eyes every time they encountered each other. Yet, she never said a word. "Lysette, I do love Meg."

"I know you do," she sighed. "I knew within the first few days of my arrival here. Any time I mentioned her name, I saw how it affected you. I've watched the two of you love and care for each other ever since then. And, I know that no matter what happens when she returns, that the two of you will be alright."

"I hope so," he whispered.

The sound of a horse racing up the drive sent Lysette back to the window. "It's some boy on a horse. Let me see what he wants."

Erik followed her to the door as she cracked it open. But, he recognized Claude's tired face in the light of the gas lantern outside. Pulling open the door, he invited him in.

"Claude? What are you doing here?"

"Monsieur Labreau sent me with this," he handed him the dirt streaked envelope.

"Lysette, please fix Claude dinner, and let him rest."

Erik took the envelope into the hall and tore it open to read. The note in Labreau's hand was brief.

 _She's gone. I think she may be headed your way._

Erik sighed wearily. "Too late, my friend." He turned the letter over and read over her resignation. Lysette walked up behind him.

"Is everything alright?"

He looked the letter over, then tossed it into the fire. "For tonight."

* * *

Cassandra peered through the black cast iron railings of the fence that circled the Ursuline Convent. The grounds were dotted with groups of young girls, all dressed in white, their hair primly tied back in a rainbow of silk ribbons. But, there was no sign of Lucia. She continued following the fence, checking each young, milky face. Then she noticed there was one following her. A little ebony haired girl, no older than five stood watching her with curious eyes. Cassandra paused, giving her an angelic smile as she crooked a gloved finger at her little admirer. The little girl came to her without any hesitation.

"Hello darling," she said, her voice like sugar as she stooped down. "What's your name?"

"Theresa," she answered, smile shy. "You're so pretty."

Cassandra kept the honey flowing as she spoke. "You're so sweet Theresa. I bet you could help me. Would you like to help me?"

The little girl eagerly nodded her head. "Yes!"

"Do you know Lucia De Laval?"

Her hazel eyes brightened. "Yes!"

"Do you know where she is?"

She turned and pointed her delicate finger at one of the large oaks in the distance. "She's sitting over there on the swing."

Cassandra worked the small pearl bracelet off of her wrist and handed it to her through the fence. "This is for you, because I know you're going to be so helpful to me. Would you please go and tell Lucia that her friend from the opéra is here. Tell her that her father sent me."

Theresa nodded, and hurried in the direction of the oak tree. Cassandra smiled through the fence line, watching as her little messenger went to work.

* * *

Erik arrived at Ursuline Convent, and rang the bell at the entrance door. He stared anxiously up at the tiers of windows, thinking of Lucia. He hoped she would be glad to see him, despite his selfish absence. The door finally opened as the craggy face of one of the sisters appeared. Her expression changed from mild annoyance to surprise as she pulled the door open.

"Monsieur De Laval! Please come in!"

"Thank you sister," he said, entering the entrance hall. "I know I usually send word ahead, but_."

"Mother Superior will want to see you right away," she said, motioning him to follow. "We sent word to you, but I suspect that you were gone before the messenger reached you!"

"Wait! Is Lucia alright," he asked, hurrying after her.

"Mother Superior will tell you Monsieur," she said, opening the door into what he knew was Mother Superior's study.

He rushed inside, as Mother Superior rushed up from her desk. "Monsieur De Laval! Thank God you've come!"

"Where is Lucia," he demanded.

He could see the stress working behind the calm, pale face. "We don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know," he cried. "When was the last time you saw her?"

She turned away, slender hands pressed together in an almost prayer like pose. "It was this morning. We let the girls have time outside. When the hour was over, Sister Clotilde noticed she was missing. We questioned the girls, and no one seemed to know what happened to her. Then, one of our youngest students came forward. She said that a blonde woman called her over to the fence. She gave her some trinket and asked her to tell Lucia that you had sent her. Lucia went to the fence. This student went on to play and lost track of Lucia. It wasn't until the girls returned to their studies that we noticed she was missing."

He cursed under his breath as he paced around helplessly. "Did you call for the police?"

"Of course, and we sent word to you! They said that they would send officers to the opéra and to your home_."

Erik shove the door open, running through the halls and out to the carriage. "The opéra," he shouted at Henri. "Hurry!"

* * *

The opéra doors were wide open when he arrived. Policemen were questioning cast members all around. He searched for Labreau, but didn't see him among the anxious faces. Running back stage he found him engaged in a shouting match with Captain Guilbert. Erik hadn't seen the Captain in over a decade since Jean Hollier attacked Meg. He had hoped he never would have to again. When the Captain noticed him, he left Labreau.

"Monsieur De Laval, your daughter_."

"I know," Erik growled. "I just came from the convent!"

Labreau grasped his shoulder, his eyes red from tears. "We will find her _mon ami_. I_."

Captain Guilbert interrupted. "Monsieur De Laval. Did this Mademoiselle Moreau ever mention having any friends or family nearby?"

"No," Erik muttered. "She gave me the same story as everyone else you've questioned. No family as far as any of us know."

"Did she ever make any threats towards you or your daughter?"

Erik covered his face with his hands, fighting to catch his breath. Everything around him, including his emotions were spinning beyond his control. "No. She showed up at our home last night, but I sent her away. What the hell are you doing to actually find my daughter, Captain? Your officers standing around here won't bring her safely back to me!"

"We have some of our men patrolling the docks to make sure she's not trying to take Lucia out of the city. I also have men riding up and down the roads outside the city searching any carriages. We're also getting word to residents to be on the look out for this woman and Lucia. We are doing everything possible to find her!"

Erik shook his head, turning sharply on his heel. "It's not enough!"

"Monsieur! Wait! I have more questions," Captain Guilbert shouted.

Erik kept walking as Labreau followed. "I'm coming with you!"

They hurried outside to Henri and the carriage. "Where to now Monsieur?"

"Home," Erik yelled, opening the door. As he went to step inside he noticed a note waiting on the seat. He grabbed it and tore it open.

"What is it," Labreau asked.

Erik held up a hand to quiet him, as he read.

 _If you want to see Lucia again, keep this to yourself. We're waiting north where the camellia's grow wild. I know you'll figure it out._

He read over it several times, until the words swarmed through his head like an army of flies; senseless and vile. Labreau grabbed it out of his hand, and read it out loud.

"North. Where the camellias grow wild." He muttered the words over and over.

Erik sank against the side of the carriage, watching helplessly as Labreau stood lost in thought. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"It may," Labreau said. "I grew up north of here, as you know. Along the river. There was this one old house that had a grove of camellias. Hundreds of rows of them. My mother use to drive us past there often. I haven't been back there since_."

Erik pulled the door open and hurried inside. "Get in!"

* * *

"You can't go there alone," Labreau shouted as Erik pushed through the doors of Maison Azelée.

"I have to," Erik said tearing off his coat. "Henri! Saddle up a horse for me!"

Lysette came out of the kitchen, her face worked with confusion. "Monsieur? What happened?"

"Lucia is missing," he breathed. "I need for you to get me one of those old hunting knives that Gilles sent when I moved in. Sharpen it. I also need rope. The strongest you can find."

Lysette nodded her head, giving him a look of understanding. She already knew who was responsible. "I will find them."

Erik grabbed a sheet of paper off a nearby desk and shoved it at Labreau. "Draw me a map of this place."

Labreau opened his mouth to argue. "You need_."

"Do it!"

Labreau grabbed a pen out of the ink well, and hurriedly scribbled out a crude map. "It's a good 10 miles north from here as you follow the river. You will pass three old houses, or what's left of them. This one is farther off the road, but you will still be able to see it. The camellia grove borders the road." He handed the map to Erik. "Be careful, _mon ami_."

Erik nodded, and rushed out the door without a word.

* * *

It was dark, and the miles of river cut past him in a blur. As he rode, he could feel the past awakening inside him. All the anger. All the hate. The conscienceless determination to let nothing stand in his way. All that he thought had died when he finally said goodbye to Christine was clawing its way out of him. It tore through the thin veil of self control he had contructed, alive and hungry.

He was the old Erik once more.

As he rode up on what was left of the camellia grove, he made a vow to himself. If Lucia was hurt, Cassandra Moreau wouldn't live to see another sunrise.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"I was crazy to allow him to go alone!" Labreau continued his erratic pacing around the front hall, as Lysette and Henri looked on.

"He will bring Lucia back," Lysette whispered, reaching for Henri's hand. "I know it."

"Of course he will," Henri said, though the look in his eyes told a different story. It was the dark story that had played itself out in each of their own minds. One built on a possibility that none of them wanted to acknowledge.

"He's been gone since nightfall and we have two hours left before sunrise," Labreau said, shoving his gold watch back into his pocket. "I don't care what his instructions were, I'm taking my horse and riding out there! Henri, I need Gilles's old pistol. I'm not taking any chances!"

The sound of horses on the drive outside sent Lysette racing ahead of him for the door. Each silently prayed for the sight of Erik and Lucia's faces as they hurried outside. Instead, a hired carriage came into view, and circled the drive. When it finally came to a stop, the door shot open and Meg appeared.

" _Merci Dieu_ ," Labreau cried, as they raced down the steps to meet them.

Lysette hurried to embrace Meg, as Labreau pulled Madame Giry aside. Nothing needed to be said for her to know that something wasn't right.

She grabbed Labreau's arm. "What is wrong? Tell me now."

Meg left the embraces of Lysette and Henri. "Where is Erik?"

Lysette gripped Meg's shoulder. "Something happened Madame." She hesitated.

"Lysette. Tell me," Meg demanded.

"That Moreau woman took Lucia! Now, Erik has gone to find her and bring her home."

For a moment, Meg looked as if she would drop to the ground. She shut her eyes tightly, her face going white. Lysette tightened her grip on Meg's shoulders, determined to keep her on her feet. "They need you Meg," she whispered. "They need you to be strong."

Meg nodded, and opened her eyes. The look in them reminded Lysette of the night they ended Jean Hollier. That same Meg Giry who fought for them that night had finally made her return. Smiling, Lysette let her go and stood back.

"Get the horses! We're leaving now," Meg said to Henri and Labreau. "Mama, you and Lysette take the carriage into the city and get the police. Tell them where we're going. Hurry!"

* * *

Cassandra continued her watch from one of the front windows in the dark parlor. There wasn't a movement or sound outside that escaped her eyes or ears that night. But, there was still no sign of Erik.

 _Where the hell are you..._

She left the window and went to an adjacent door. Unlocking it, she stuck her head in to check on her little guest. Lucia was still deep under the influence of the sleeping aid she injected her with. The little monster put up a good fight when she figured out that her father wasn't going to be there. Unless Erik arrived soon, she would have to give her a second injection. She would also need some help of her own. She locked the door again, and went to her leather case. Packed inside were vials and small bottles of her mixtures and ingredients she used in all her work. One vial was a thick yellow liquid that wasn't her own creation. It was crafted by her mentor. He was a retired soldier and chemist turned assassin, who created it to keep him awake at all hours during his service in Africa. She had only used it once, and it worked like a charm. There was always a twisted sort of tenderness that accompanied her memories of him. He first laid eyes on her when she was only 15, and decided that she was the pupil he had been searching for. One who he could mold to his liking in every way imaginable. No man had been able to wind her around their finger the way he had, until Erik.

She felt a hard punch of energy as the drug took her over. It was still as potent as the day he mixed it for her. Awakened and ready, she shut her case, and began her hourly walk through. As she passed the winding staircase, she caught something out the corner of her eye. A flurry of movement. Yet, there was no sound. No footsteps overhead. Nothing that would give away another soul. She reached her hand inside the deep pocket of her skirt, slipping her fingers around her revolver, and took the stairs up. The halls were empty, as were all the bedrooms, and the doors that led onto the gallery were still locked. The last stop on her search was the attic. Lighting an old lantern, she let herself into the shuttered space. It was crowded with old furniture and an empty armoire, but nothing else. Satisfied, she hurried out and back down the stairs. As she descended the lantern light touched something at the bottom. Perched on the last stair was a folded note. She grabbed it up and tore it open.

 _I've found you. Now it's your turn to find me._

A smirk tweaked the corners of her lips as she balled up the note in her fist, and pitched it away. "I'm tired of playing games Erik!"

The sound of his laughter echoed softly, yet threateningly through the dark hall. Keeping her hand on the revolver in her pocket, she looked all around her. There was no sign of him in any of the dark corners. She began slowly backing her way towards the parlor doors, her eyes everywhere. A sudden loud crack pulled her attention upward.

The dusty chandelier above her was in free fall.

She felt splintering crystals cutting into her back as it hit the marble floor, inches away. Dust and shock blinded her as she stumbled into the safety of the parlor. For a minute she stared out at the mangled remains of the chandelier, her heart pounding hard and her breath stuck in her chest. It was as close to death as she had ever come. Her shock eventually gave way to fury as she rushed to unlock the door to Lucia. She was barely awake, but uttered a panicked cry when she saw her in the doorway.

"Come here!" Cassandra grabbed her by the collar of her dress, and dragged her out. "You want to see your father? He's here now to tell you good bye!"

Lucia kicked her feet out, screaming. "Papa!"

Cassandra pulled her out into the hall, and shoved the revolver barrel to her temple. "Let me tell you a story Lucia. I know you silly little girls like stories. Once upon a time, your father killed a man, and he got away with it! Do the names Jean Hollier and Auberge ring any bells for you Erik," she shouted into the dark. No answer came, and she continued. "After your father killed Jean Hollier, his aunt Madame Auberge was very sad. You see, her wealthy friends wouldn't play with her anymore. So she ran away to Europe to find new friends. And that's where she found me, and asked me to help make the man who killed her nephew pay for what he'd done. So, my darling Lucia, you have your father to thank for all this! He's not a nice man, your father. He likes to play with ladies and then throw them away like they're nothing! He thinks he's going to get away with that, but not this time." She cocked the gun. "You see Erik, there is always a consequence."

It came so fast and deftly that she didn't see it coming until it was too late. Rope squeezing and cutting into her neck, choking off both her breath, and her revenge. She dropped the gun as it grew tighter. Her feet began to leave the ground.

Erik's voice came from the stairwell above. "Run Lucia!"

The door was open as the first rays of sunlight shot into the hallway. She saw Lucia running out and down the path to the road. Another yank tightened the rope more, as she pulled and kicked. Again he pulled it tighter and she rose higher. She could feel the life going out of her as she continued struggling. Then suddenly, the rope snapped, releasing her body to cold hard floor below. In the light from the doorway she saw her revolver lying in wait inches away. Rolling onto her stomach, she crawled and strained for it. It was so close. But, Erik was already there. The gun was in his hand, and aimed straight down into her face. Staring up into the barrel, she found herself smiling.

"Go ahead," she whispered. "Do it."

He put his finger on the trigger. "It didn't have to be this way Cassandra."

"Do it," she dared him. "You warned me before that you would shoot me. Or was that just talk?"

"Erik!"

She watched the hardness in his face melt away as Meg appeared beside him. The eyes that were so much like her own cut into her face like a razor. Meg grabbed the gun from Erik's hand and struck her hard across the face with it. Despite the blinding pain, she forced herself to smile defiantly at Meg.

"I didn't think you had it in you," she taunted.

Again the barrel was in her face and ready to send her out of the world. "I have more in me than you know," Meg growled. "You came here and tried to hurt my family, and I want to know why!"

"Madame Auberge," Erik said. "She hired her to kill me."

Meg struck her across the face again, the searing pain sending her onto her back. "You came for the wrong person, you bitch!"

"Meg, don't," Erik yelled.

"No," Meg shouted aiming the gun at her. "I don't care if she knows! Because where she's going, there won't be anyone to tell!"

Heavy footsteps and shouts flooded the hall behind them as several police men filled the hall. But, Meg remained locked above her, gun aimed.

"Madame De Laval. Please put the gun down."

Meg's finger was still taut and ready at the trigger.

"Madame De Laval!"

She didn't speak or move.

"Meg, please," Erik pleaded softly. "She's not worth it."

The gun was finally lowered, but the look of hatred remained branded on Meg's face as she handed the gun over. The police moved in fast. Cassandra was lifted off the floor as one pinned her arms roughly behind her back. Erik had his arms around Meg, yet, his eyes were still on her. Cassandra continued smiling at him through the pain and the blood that streaked her face. Even after all that, she was still able to come between them. As the police led her away, she didn't feel the need to bow completely to defeat. There was one last punishing shot available to her. She decided, without hesitation, to take it.

"Your husband knew it was me that night," she spat at Meg.

The angry defiance on Meg's face died as the police led Cassandra away and out the door. As she rode away in the black wagon, she felt an odd sense of satisfaction. Madame Auberge would never have her revenge, but perhaps in the end she would.

* * *

The following weeks felt longer than a year to everyone at Maison Azelée. Every day it seemed their door was opened to Captain Guilbert, or his messenger bringing them some scrap of news. Cassandra was already being extradited back to Europe to face numerous murder charges, while Madame Auberge herself would be returning to face the charge of conspiracy to commit murder. Captain Guilbert assured them that both Cassandra and Madame Auberge would spend the rest of their lives locked away. The relief this gave them all, was short lived. The outside world seemed obsessed with the story, and their appetite for more couldn't be satisfied. Every day, the local papers gave more lurid details of Lucia's kidnapping, and made suggestive commentary concerning the depth of Erik's involvement with the "dangerous Mademoiselle Moreau". Details were either completely fabricated, or likely given by opéra employees who were willing to talk for cash. Labreau was forced to cancel performances in order to get away from the reporters who harassed the entire company, and disrupted rehearsals. It sent he and Madame Giry on an exodus out of New Orleans, and behind the now locked gates of Maison Azelée. Even that didn't stop reporters, and overly interested strangers from congregating outside. They would stand out there for hours, hands on the cast iron bars, as if they were hoping to absorb more of the drama just by being there.

No matter how hard they fought to block Cassandra's presence out of their and Lucia's lives, she always seemed to find her way back in. Every night, Lucia awoke from nightmares, crying for them. Both Meg and Erik took turns sleeping beside her, struggling to reassure her that she was truly safe. Getting Lucia through the worst of the aftermath became their only focus. There was no time for confessions or arguments between them. The moment for that would have to wait.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Have you spoken to him about it at all," Madame Giry asked, as she and Meg strolled down the garden path.

"No," Meg admitted, looking over her shoulder at the house. "It just hasn't been the right time. With Lucia_."

"She's much better now," Madame Giry cut in. "Those vultures from the newspapers are finally gone. Things are slowly returning to normal. It's time."

"I know Mama, I know," Meg sighed. "I just don't know if I'm ready."

Madame Giry slipped her hand into Meg's. "You can't keep sidestepping each other forever. You and Erik will never be able to move past this by burying it."

"I'm afraid. What if what she said was true? I just can't_." Meg turned away, hands to her face.

"When we left Mexico, you told me that you wanted to know the truth from Erik." Madame Giry settled her hands on Meg's shoulders. "The time has come for you to have it from him, and for him to have it from you."

Meg turned back to her, wiping her eyes. "I don't want things to change."

"But, they already have _ma petite_! If you don't get to the truth, then there is no chance for things to get better! I think you know that."

"I know," Meg breathed, raising her eyes to the cold blue sky overhead.

"Come, let's go back," Madame Giry said, leading her up the path. "Labreau and I will take Lucia out with the horses. It will be easier that way."

* * *

She found him where she expected, cloistered in his study, staring distractedly out the windows. Giving the door a soft knock, she let herself in. The smile he met her with was one of uncertainty.

"I was just watching Lucia," he said, nodding at the window.

She joined him as they watched Labreau struggling into his mount. An unexpected laugh was shared between them as Henri struggled to push him up into the saddle. As they rode off, Meg drifted away from the window, her eyes taking in the dusty bookshelves, and much used Louis XV chairs by the blackened fireplace.

"Every time I come in here I remember when I first came here," Meg said, the memory evoking a smile.

"It was the reason I came in here," Erik confessed, leaning against the mahogany desk behind him. "Just to remember. It seems like a lifetime ago."

Meg joined him. "I miss those days."

They both went silent. The moment they had avoided had finally come, and both of them knew it. There were no more convenient excuses to grab hold of or hide behind. Erik spoke first.

"We can't keep going on this way. I hate how things have been between us. Not just in the last week, but before you left."

"I know," Meg's voice cracked with emotion. "So much of it was my fault."

"Not all of it."

"It is! I pushed you away after Angelique died. It was so hard. I didn't know how to come back from that. I started to wonder if we were ever going to be the same again."

"No," Erik whispered, taking her hand. "I wasn't there for you enough. I didn't know how to reach you. So, I stepped away. Then this happened."

"You have to tell me everything," Meg said, tears pooling in her eyes. "I have to know if what she said was true."

Erik shut his eyes. "Not in the way she intimated. Yes, I was attracted to her, but I never had any intention of acting on it. She came here before the premier and tried to get me to bend to her. But, I didn't. The night of the performance, I wasn't careful. She slipped something into my glass before the cast toast. It twisted my mind into knots. Then I saw her. She was masked and wearing your white dress from _Coppelia_. The way she moved and walked was your way. I thought you had come back! In that state of mind, I was certain that it was you."

"But, you made love to her," Meg cried. "How could you not have known it wasn't me?"

"Everything was a blur! In the state I was in, I couldn't tell the difference. I wasn't able to think. All I could do was feel. I have no other way to explain it other than that. But, please believe me when I tell you that I thought it was you I was with!"

"I want to believe everything you are saying. But, you kissed her on stage that night, and you weren't drugged then! Explain that!"

"I was angry," Erik admitted, his eyes lowered. "I heard that you and Antonio were together, and that it had become much more than friendship. Fearing it was true, I felt compelled to do whatever I wanted. But, after I kissed her, I knew it wasn't right, and that it didn't matter if what I heard was true. I still loved and wanted only you!"

"Who told you this," Meg asked.

"Doña Marguerita's daughter. I could tell by the look on both their faces when she said it that they believed it wasn't just gossip. With your absence and that one letter you sent me, I found myself believing that it was true too. Why wouldn't you want him? He's young and everything that I will never be and could never be for you! We had been drifting apart, and I thought that this was just another sign that you regretted marrying me."

"No," Meg whispered, cupping his face in her hands. "When I heard about what happened that night, I went mad." She fell silent as the truth pushed it's way out. "I have no right to hold what happened with her against you."

He read the truth in her eyes without a word. "So you're telling me that what they said was true?"

"After I heard Doña Marguerita telling Anna what happened the night of the premier, I felt so hurt and humiliated that I went to Antonio. We were going to meet that night. But, I couldn't do it. I couldn't!" She pressed her forehead against his, pulling him closer. "I kept thinking about our life together and how much I loved you." She pressed her lips against his, in silent plea. "I still love you. I couldn't ever love anyone else. Forgive me?"

"It's me who should be asking you for forgiveness," he whispered, stroking her face. "If it wasn't for me, Lucia would have been safe. She never_."

"Don't," Meg begged. "You couldn't have known that she would go as far as she did! And when you found out, you went and saved Lucia! It's over and done. All I care about now is us, and Lucia. Nothing else."

* * *

"How are things," Labreau asked, taking a seat next to Erik at the piano.

He could sense an interrogation was forthcoming. "Now that everything is out in the open, it's better."

"But, you're still sleeping apart," Labreau observed.

Erik heaved a sigh. "Antoinette misses nothing, does she?"

"Not a thing," Labreau chuckled. "She's concerned, that's all."

"She could be concerned less in that regard," Erik muttered, as he began playing Chopin's Nocturne #2.

Labreau leaned in closer. "What if I told you that I have something for Antoinette that would take her attention away from you and Meg?"

Erik continued playing. "I would tell you that I'm in favor of it."

Labreau glanced over his shoulder to reassure himself that the room behind them was empty, and reached into his coat pocket. "In this little velvet box is my mother's wedding ring." He opened the red velvet box as the diamond flared in the candlelight.

Erik smiled. "So you've finally found the courage."

"I've always had it _mon ami_ ," Labreau said, snapping the box shut. "I was simply waiting for the right moment to present itself."

"Of course," Erik crooned. "So when and where?"

"Now that the opéra is finally opened, and those vermin from the city papers have moved on, I was thinking after the performance of _Mignon_ next week. I can set up an intimate supper for our little circle, after the crowds and all the cast have gone."

"Why not a supper for just the two of you? Are you afraid she'll run away without us there to block her escape," Erik teased.

"Very funny, but no," Labreau said, smirking. "All of you mean so much to both of us. I know she would want you all share the occasion." Labreau paused for a moment to appreciate the beautiful pairing of Chopin and Erik's skill. "You may feel that my asking you to return to the opéra is asking too much."

Erik silently acknowledged that Labreau's assumption was true. The memories of what he had done and went through there were still raw. They would be for some time. But, as he looked over at his friend's hopeful smile, he felt moved to try.

"Not at all _mon ami_. Of course, I will be there."

* * *

Erik entered the opéra house through the backstage door. As it shut behind him, he felt his guard go up. The halls were mostly dark, and there was not a voice or sound to be heard anywhere. He continued a cautious walk down the hall, and out to the stage. Even though he was alone, he felt himself shudder as he gazed out at the empty rows and boxes. The memories of the last time he stood there still clung to him, unwanted.

"Hello," he called out into the emptiness.

"Up here!"

He heard Meg's voice float down to him from above. The velvet curtains of their box were drawn. The unsettling feelings he walked onto the stage with were chased away by curiosity. He followed its call off the stage, and up the flights of stairs to the door of their box. What he saw on the other side stopped him at the threshold. She sat gracefully astride a backwards chair, wearing nothing but her dancing slippers. It was as if they were back at the beginning, on that long ago night when he first came to the opéra.

"What took you so long," she asked, smiling.

Returning her smile, he shut the door behind him. "I thought I was here for an engagement party."

"It's happening. Just not here." Meg stood up slowly, crooking a finger at him.

With one graceful motion, he slipped his coat off, and threw it aside. "That was a sly trick."

"I know."

"You only had to ask, and I would have come," he said, taking her hand.

"I wanted to surprise you," she whispered, laying a hand on his chest. "Are you pleased?"

Smiling, he took her hand and pressed it to his mouth. "Very."

"Good," she said, pulling on the silk tie at his throat. "Because I plan on continuing to please you for a very long time."

THE END

 _*The third and last story, The Final Threshold, is coming soon. Thanks for reading!_


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